


Residue

by moonflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Billy centric, Billy cries a lot, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It, Gen, Getting Together, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, M/M, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Nobody is Dead, Our boy's had a tough time okay, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Post-Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Soft Boys, a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: Billy is having a little trouble adjusting after Starcourt. But things get better. Also there’s horses.Or, the post season three fix-it that I don’t have a proper summary for yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kicks off about two months after Starcourt, so end of August/start of September. I do have a plan but it’s loose as heck, I’m aiming to post once a week.  
A sort of intro to get things going. Billiam is not in a good place :(

Billy was going to go into town. He _was,_ honest. It was the first day he felt up to the journey, both physically and in the head. Though the longer he hesitated by the still dented driver side door of the Camaro, the less likely it was looking he’d actually make it.

***

If the gate had been closed a second later, he might have been a goner. Or so Max and Mrs Byers had explained to him afterwards, the two of them stuck with the task of catching Billy up on the whole fucking mess. Little Byers had been there too but hadn’t said much, just looked at Billy all sad and fidgeted with the hospital blanket. He still thought most of it sounded too wacky to be true. But he had the scars on his chest and a head full of terrible half-memories to prove it. Neither of which were a fuckin’ picnic, even two months later, but it was… better than it had been, at the start. 

He’d spent the entirety of July in hospital, hooked up to a hundred different machines and trying in vain to forget all of it. He was too weak to even be properly mad those first couple weeks, let the doctor and nurses do whatever they had to do like a meek little fuckin’ lamb. Spent most of it sleeping, mercifully. But then he’d started to feel a little stronger, let himself think about it all just a little too much – there was fuck else to do between Max’s visits apart from stare at the ceiling – and realised he was fucking _angry_. Angry at what his life had been before, that he’d been just about managing to keep his head above water when that _thing_ had come along and made his screw up of an existence impossibly worse. That he’d made it out of the whole mess alive when it might have been easier on everyone if... Still. The anger was a good distraction from the guilt. On the third day of him yelling and refusing to see anyone and knocking shit over just to piss off the nurses, the chief had introduced him to a Doctor Owens, who’d made him talk about everything. A lot. He didn’t doubt for a second that all the doc’s questions were ones he wanted answering for his own benefit rather than for his, but that didn’t mean talking about it didn’t ease him up a little. Stopped him from keeping it all locked up inside his own head to fester away, let it out a little bit at a time to drift away like smoke. Which he wasn’t allowed to do anymore. Fuckin’ insult to injury, that was. 

They’d carted him off back to the house in August, with a list of exercises and instructions as long as his arm, and a literal bucket full of meds. He’d been as good as fucking bedbound, insides taking their sweet time to get back to where they should be, getting used to the missing pieces they’d had to scoop out. Max had looked after him mostly, rolled her eyes when he was a dick just for the sake of it, let him lean on her shoulder for slow trips down the hall to the bathroom, brought him PB&Js she’d slapped together herself. Talked at him to fill the grey, echoing silence when he got lost in his own head a little too long. He hadn’t been nice to her about it, not to start with, too guilty and humiliated to let her get close. She should never have had to deal with his bullshit like this. But it turned out a month of helping him shower had been pretty effective at breaking down some of the shoddy walls he’d put up. 

Susan had helped too when she was home, which hadn’t been often because of the extra work she’d had to pick up. He’d hated that even more. Had snarled and snapped and barely let her near him to start with, until it was clear he couldn’t change the remaining dressings himself, or even get out of bed by himself, and there was no one else to do it for him when Max was out or catching up on sleep. Most of it had been carried out in resentful silence on his part, once he’d realised she was ignoring his nastiness, and nervousness on hers. 

Like everyone else, she only knew what the papers had printed. He and Max weren’t allowed to talk to her about it. For her, it had all boiled down to the fact that Billy had helped save Max from a burning building, which was more than enough for her to be willing to help any way she could. That and the fact that Neil wasn’t around to stop her anymore. Billy’d taken care of that when that thing was in him. He'd felt sick about it when he shuffled past his and Susan’s bedroom door, or when Susan put a ball game on the TV to fill the silence. The slew of bad dreams where he held down his father ready for that thing to take, hands bloodied and Neil still spewing all kinds of shit at him as the monster closed in. It wasn’t always his father he was holding down. Often it was Heather. Sometimes Max, which was the worst. Once or twice it had been Harrington, which he didn’t want to think too much about. The girl, El, sometimes too. But it was Neil more than anyone else. 

He’d thought it might have hurt, going back to that house, but it hadn’t. It was just four walls.

***

He hadn’t driven the Camaro since the night Harrington had crashed into the side of it. But once he was behind the wheel, old habits took over, and he found himself coasting towards town barely thinking about what his hands were doing. The drive went by in a blink. It only felt like a handful of seconds had passed before he cut the engine in the parking lot outside the grocery store, wondering if he’d ever stop being a pussy long enough to actually get out of the car. He’d gotten sort of used to, if not okay with, Max and Susan seeing him like he was now, but that didn’t mean he felt any better about the rest of Hawkins seeing his short hair and smaller body. He put his hood up, and hoped no one cared enough to recognise him.

He managed to climb out of the car in the end, but felt as though everyone in the lot turned to look at him as he did. He kept his head down, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, as he walked towards the store. It was… okay. The fluorescent lights made him wince a little, threatened a headache. But he mostly managed to keep out of other shoppers’ way as he slipped between the aisles, picking up a basketful of things from the list Susan had written out for him. That was one of the reasons he was putting himself through it, not that he’d admit it. She’d started to look almost happy and, bewilderingly, he found himself wanting to keep it that way. He felt like he owed her. And, more selfishly, he was tired of feeling like someone’s burden; he wanted to have a use again, even if it was only picking up goddamned canned vegetables for his stepmother, for now.

The two women in front of him at the checkout stopped talking abruptly when he approached, shooting what were probably meant to be covert looks over their shoulders. He recognised one of them from his old poolside fan club; smudged peach lipstick and the smell of lilacs. He didn’t bother with a smile for them, they weren’t worth the bother. He did dredge one up for the old guy at the checkout though, when he beamed at him and asked – 

“Say, aren’t you that young boy who helped rescue the kids from the mall?”

Billy squirmed. Slapping on a smirk to hide his discomfort didn’t come as easy as it used to. “That’s me.” His voice sounded wrong.

“I’ll take a little off your bill,” he winked, “on account of what you did for those poor kids.”

He felt sick as he bagged up the groceries, but the old guy didn’t seem to notice how awkward he felt, or his hand shaking as he picked up the can of peas, didn’t say anything more other than wishing him a good afternoon. If that had been it, Billy might have been okay. But on his way across the lot back to the car, he was stopped by two different sympathetically smiling strangers he’d never met before, both asking how he was doing and if he could give their best wishes to his stepmom. He didn’t even know their names. He couldn’t remember what he said back. 

Most people in town only knew half the story. Officially, it was that he’d been trapped in the mall fire along with the others, a fire they'd claimed was caused by faulty wiring, one of the many things their corrupt mayor had skimped on when building Starcourt. That when the police and fire trucks had turned up, he’d been helping to get the kids out of the ruined mall. That he’d just gotten the last of them free when a wall had collapsed, crushing him under a pile of rubble. That he was lucky to be alive. That he wasn’t one of the thirty who hadn’t made it out. It made him feel sick, made him want to claw his way out of his own skin and be somebody else. It was humiliating. He was a _fraud._ And worse. The last thing he’d been trying to do in the mall that night was save the kids. 

He shut the car door behind him, could breathe a little easier once he’d put some space between him and the rest of the world. But he still felt wrong, and jittery, on the edge of tears, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to the house like that, let Susan and Max see that he couldn’t take a half hour trip out to get groceries without breaking down like a fucking baby over it. He drove – the car had somehow been salvaged and fixed up, though it didn’t run so smooth anymore – far out of town, until it smelt less of hot asphalt and car exhaust, more like cow shit and hay and animal feed. The windows were rolled down. Actually, one wouldn’t roll up at all; one of the many imperfections his baby’d been left with. Both of them a little banged up. 

When he couldn’t bear the aching of his not quite healed torso hunched over the wheel any longer, he pulled over to the side of the road by a long stretch of field, almost driving right into the rickety wooden rails around its edge in his hurry to stop. He slumped back in the seat, rubbing at the stiff, newly pink scars on his chest through his shirt. Realistically, it probably did fuck all, but the repetitive motion made him breathe easier. The tears down his face had long dried.

It was almost dark. There was still a part of him that clenched with worry around dusk, a part ready to spring away home, because it was dinner time and he had to be home for dinner. His father had been dead for two months, and Billy’d had more than enough to occupy his mind since, but still that tiny part of him lurched unwillingly towards home anyway. In an attempt to defy it, he climbed out of the car, and walked to the edge of the field. Not thinking too hard on what he was doing, he hopped over the fence, muscles only protesting a little, and walked away down the slope, just enough to be out of sight of the road. He sat down. There was a long moment when he just sat, head in his hands, tried to think about nothing at all. Sometimes he was scared to blink, terrified that he’d open his eyes and see Hawkins covered in a dark film of slime and dust, that that thing would be back in him, that he’d blink again and an hour would have passed without him knowing. When he felt like he could, he looked up. The sky was the blue pink wash of late summer dusk, the trees that sheltered the field black against the fading light. A few birds skipped and zipped between the branches, calling to each other. He didn’t know what they were. Didn’t know shit about birds. But he watched them anyway. The grass was cold underneath him, would probably leave a damp patch on his ass. But he kept on sitting there anyway, and felt everything ease, just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the lack of dialogue wasn’t too off-putting, I just wanted to establish where Billy's at.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The PoV is going to be mostly Billy with an occasional chapter from someone else when I feel like it. Here’s a Steve. Just pretend the TV exposé thing happens shortly after Starcourt instead of three months, kay? Also Steve and Robin are already working in Family Video.

Steve was bored. There were only three default settings he seemed to operate on these days; Bored, Sort of Okay, and Total Mess. Thankfully, that last one was less frequent than it used to be. Sort of Okay was mostly when he was hanging with Robin, or maybe taking the kids out somewhere, just listening to them laugh and argue and be themselves, and he could almost say he felt happy. But day to day, there was a stifling sort of boredom settled over him in an almost tangible layer. It muffled everything around him, like snow or packing peanuts. He needed something to snap him out of it, a change or distraction, since he seemed incapable of getting out of it all by himself, stuck running along a groove he'd fallen into. But he wasn’t about to start wishing for something interesting to happen, not in Hawkins. He wasn’t that stupid.

It wasn’t helped by days like this one, where his shift at the video store was with Keith rather than Robin, now school had started again. Which just plain sucked. They mostly left each other alone, Keith taking up residence behind the counter with a family size bag of chips – muttering that Robin had better be right about him, whatever _that_ meant – while Steve put returned tapes back and hid from him between the shelves. Don’t get him wrong, the job was a fucking drag no matter what, but at least when he was in with Robin, the hours went by faster. Not to get sappy about it, but he guessed she was his best friend. He could talk to her about all of it when he needed to, even the real worst of it, and she was really fucking good at pulling him out of his own head on the days he needed to pretend none of it had ever happened. To forget that cold room full of low curses in Russian, bellowed questions he didn’t know the answers to, the click of metal tools on a tray... Yeah. As previously stated, ‘Total Mess’ days weren’t as frequent as they had been, but there were still times he felt jittery and uncomfortable, when he felt like there was someone watching him, or he couldn’t get the sight of that thing punching through Billy Hargrove’s chest like he was made of butter out of his head. None of it was helped by the trickle of people who came to town to sniff around, nosey about rumours of what had happened at Starcourt, waving old newspaper clippings of Hargrove and Will Byers, of Barb and Bob Newby. He and Robin had an ongoing kind of game as to who could make up the most outlandish tale to spin those who came asking. It may have been a little morbid, but at this point, he felt like if they didn’t make light of it sometimes, they might not make it through to the end of the week. Hopper had told them more than once to knock it off, but Steve had a suspicion he secretly found it funny.

It was Will, of all of them, who’d offhandedly suggested Steve could train to be a cop. He’d laughed about it at first, ruffled Will’s hair and asked what the hell he’d been smoking. But as the end of summer had drawn closer, it had started to sound not quite so stupid. He’d have to talk to Hop, if he was serious. Find out what he’d need to do. It still seemed a long way off, felt as though it was barely even possible. But the thought of it added a dangerous fourth setting to the previous three: Hope.

The bell above the door rang and he jumped, just about managed not to drop a copy of The Dark Crystal. He peered over the top of the shelf to see Max dragging her mom into the store out of the early September drizzle, matching red hair full of tiny water droplets.

“Hey Max,” he straightened up, threw her a wave over the shelf. “How’s it going?”

“Okay,” she smiled back, wide and easy. After Starcourt, and the long wait while Billy was in hospital, she’d been withdrawn; not the firecracker he knew she was. There’d been bright moments, sure, but she’d definitely been quieter. But the longer her stepbrother had been back home, the more cheery she seemed to get. Which, honestly, wasn’t a turn of events he’d ever seen coming. “Anything new?”

“Sure,” he jerked his head at the new in display, “come have a look.”

“Thanks,” she ducked past him to go and flip through the tapes. “Mom, what d’you think Billy would like?”

“I’m sure he’ll like whatever you choose just fine, honey,” her mom said, smiling but resigned, like she already knew that Max and Billy’s idea of a good movie was wildly different from hers.

“Hi Mrs Hargrove,” Steve waved.

“Hello Steve,” she smiled her polite, slightly pinched little smile again. He’d only met her a handful of times; he usually waited in the car if he was dropping off or picking up Max. Had never been brave enough to say sorry about her husband, not when he knew how he’d met his end.

“Uh, maybe you wanna check out the romance section while you wait?” he tried, eyeing where Max was elbow deep in Action and Adventure. “Or comedy? Whatever you like.”

“Oh,” she shook her head, “I really don’t think the kids – “

“Aw come on,” Steve waved away her thin protest, “if you’ve gotta sit through explosions and car chases, they can sit through a little romance, am I right?”

“Well,” her shoulders relaxed with a little sigh, and her smile turned a shade more genuine, “if you insist.”

While he waited for them to pick out what they wanted, his attention strayed to the street outside, grey afternoon getting greyer by the minute. It was like someone had flipped a switch – summer’s over, kids! The store windows shone out in the dull light, busy again now that the mall had gone bust. It was kinda nice. Made him a little nostalgic for when he was kid, his mom around more and dragging him around downtown Hawkins to pick up things she’d ordered from the post office, sometimes the jewellers or the bank she’d worked in, and always for ice cream on the way home. It was so long ago, he wasn’t sure how much of it had actually happened, or how frequently, or if it was really all sunshine and smiles and strawberry sundaes like he remembered. Maybe he’d forgotten the bad bits on purpose.

The Camaro was pulled up on the kerb outside the store. The obviously dented driver side still made Steve wince, remember the jolt when he’d hit it. He could just about make out Billy sitting behind the wheel, lit up orange by the overhead light. Max hadn’t mentioned he was driving again. He’d still offer her lifts until she told him otherwise, couldn’t presume to know how Hargrove was doing, if he was up for the school run just yet. Steve hadn’t really spoken to him since the disastrous time he’d gone to the house to see him just after he’d come out of the hospital, about a month ago now. The visit was mostly made out of guilt; that Billy’d had to go through the same bullshit they all had, only a whole lot worse. That he’d had an all guns blazing introduction to the upside down, and with no one to help him through it. And Steve had thought _his_ first meeting with it had been bad. He hadn’t had any idea about Billy’s involvement until the moment he’d made the snap decision to plough into the Camaro that night, but that hardly made him feel better. And he’d saved them. If Billy Hargrove hadn’t turned around and walked right into the jaws of that fucking monster he’d been forced to whip up, then the whole town would probably have been toast. After their little monster fighting team had become so close knit, it was hard not to take it personally, when someone almost died to save a roomful of people he cared about. But it wasn’t like he could have said any of that out loud.

_“So. You’re uh, out of the hospital.”_

_“Yeah, no shit Harrington.”_

_“That was… dumb. Sorry.”_

_“It was.”_

_“Well, they didn’t have a ‘thanks for putting yourself between us and a pissed off interdimensional being made from melted human flesh and I’m sorry it fucked you up’ greetings card, so. Not sure what else I’m meant to say.”_

_“’How are you?’ would have done the job.”_

_“Oh. Um, how are you?”_

_“Well, I put myself between a bunch of losers and a pissed off interdimensional being made from melted human flesh and it fucked me up, so. Not great, Harrington. Not great.”_

This was the third time he’d come to Family Video since. Well, if him waiting in the car counted as a visit. The other two times he’d come in with Max, and Steve must have made some kind of face, because next thing he’d known Robin was gently shoving him aside to serve them herself. Steve hadn’t known how to deal with it, the sight of him standing there all pale and thin and a shadow of the Billy he’d known before, and clammed right up. So when Robin had hissed in his ear to _stop staring you doofus _and nudged him towards the back of the store, he’d sloped off with his guilt to sneak glances from behind the shelves. She’d made Hargrove laugh. He didn’t catch what she’d said, but he heard the low, rough, almost sad bark of laughter.

The second time she’d taken the initiative, given Steve an elbow to the ribs and jumped forward to deal with their returned tapes. Steve thought he might have been okay that time, if a bit wrong-footed, but it had given him the chance to observe, hidden behind a promotional cardboard cut out for some new cop drama he hadn't seen yet. Hargrove had still looked exhausted, but a little better than the time before. He and Robin seemed to get on weirdly okay. Or at least, he wasn’t as much of a dick to her as he’d been expecting. Well he was, but in the smiling, half-joking way that Robin seemed to enjoy throwing right back at him. It’d made him look a little closer to the Billy he remembered.

After they’d left, Robin had asked what his deal was. He’d just said that seeing Hargrove around again reminded him of _that night,_ and she’d given him a pat on the arm and let him be. But it left him wondering what his deal actually _was._ What did he feel about Billy Hargrove? Honestly, not much. Just slight confusion, because he’d had him down as an asshole, despite him mostly having left Steve alone since last year. Apart from the odd trip to Scoops to tease him about the uniform and get a scoop of cherries jubilee, or when their paths crossed picking up kids. He was just sort of… there. But then he’d been possessed by a monster, almost killed them all, then saved them all at the last minute, and now the sight of him had his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and his legs freezing up. And he didn’t know what to do about it. He wanted to talk to him, but felt like there was something left out of joint, like he should apologise for something. Like they’d gone five steps in different directions and he didn’t know how to make up the lost ground.

“Bye Steve!” Max’s shout brought him back to himself, grinning as her mom ushered her towards the door, Keith rolling his eyes, unimpressed at having to put down his comic book to ring them up while Steve was busy zoning out.

“Bye guys,” he threw them a salute and a half smile.

“You can still give me a lift to Mike’s tomorrow, right?” Max tore open a packet of Red Vines despite her mom’s protests it would ruin her dinner.

“Sure thing kiddo.” He might not have been so polite about it if her mom hadn't been there, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate Steve calling her daughter a little shit right in front of her, despite him meaning it as a term of affection.

“Thanks!”

He watched them head back outside, watched Billy fidget as they made their way back to the car, tapping his fingers and looking as though he was missing something. It took Steve a moment to realise it was a cigarette. Billy started the engine and gave Max a tight-lipped smile as they got in with their little stack of tapes. She threw a Red Vine at him and he stuck it between his teeth. His eyes flicked up to the store window for the briefest of moments, right on Steve, before he pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s putting away The Dark Crystal because I’m halfway through the Age of Resistance and having The Best Time.  
Also I know it’s early days, but I’m planning on giving the Byers’ a new dog and haven’t decided what kind yet, so hmu if you have any thoughts on that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I’ve been affectionately calling the period chapter. So yeah, the tiniest bit of talk about vomit and periods, in case you wanna nope out of that.

They’d shaved his head. They'd never told him why; his scalp had seemed to be about the only place he hadn’t been bleeding out of, when they'd brought him in. Later, he'd found out they’d been monitoring his brain activity, for any trace the monster who’d been living in him might have left behind. Probably something to do with that. He hadn’t asked. Couldn’t stick those little things to his head with all that hair in the way, now could they? When he’d realised what had happened, it'd felt like the worst fuckin' thing they could have done to him. Which might have sounded stupid, and incredibly selfish, after everything he’d done. He might have thought he’d be beyond caring about something so trivial, after the worst fucking fourth of July weekend of his life. But instead it had felt something like the final straw; the thing that turned him from grim and quiet and resigned when he’d first woken up to a sobbing goddamn mess. His appearance had always been one of the few things he felt he had total control of. Like with most of his bullshit, that had started with his dad, who for whatever reason had allowed Billy to dress how he wanted despite his tight hold on everything else, despite giving him shit for it behind closed doors. It was his, and it was him. But that had gone out of the window, one of the few threads remaining to hold him together, when they'd cut his hair. So yeah, it might have sounded stupid, but it wasn’t.

He looked at himself in the mirror in his room. At someone who looked like him but wasn’t quite… right. Should’ve been used to that, after the glimpses of his own panicked eyes in that impassive face that he'd had no control over, in the bathroom mirrors at the pool, in the Camaro's rear view mirror, before it took over completely again. His hair had grown out a bit – he looked less like someone who’d had it buzzed off against his will at least, but he still looked hopeless in a way that made him want to snarl and punch the mirror. Old him would have. Actually no, old him wouldn’t have either. Billy Now and Billy Before just had different reasons for pulling their punches.

He jumped, close enough to the mirror that he almost headbutted his own reflection, when he heard Max’s bedroom door slam back against the wall. Footsteps running down the hall, the bathroom latch, and the sound of her throwing up. In the old days he would have fuckin’ left her to it. Almost did, but after all the shit she’d helped drag him through the past couple months, he couldn’t bring himself to this time. It didn’t sit right with the new… whatever it was they had going on now. Actual siblings who maybe actually cared about each other. Maybe. Anyway, she’d witnessed a lot more of _his_ bodily fluids in the past two months than either of them had ever wished for, so. He probably owed her. He tore his eyes away from the reflection of Billy Now, dragged himself away from the vanity altogether, and went down the hall to bathroom.

“Jesus Maxine,” he propped himself up in the bathroom doorway, crossed his arms, “I told you that arcade pizza was dangerous.”

She gave him a withering glare from where she was still slumped over the toilet bowl, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. “It’s not that, idiot,” she pushed herself up, went to the sink to spit and wash her mouth out.

He stared at her pink toothbrush in the cup by the faucet. “If you’re pregnant – “

“Don’t be gross!” she threw a dirty washcloth at him, along with another dirty look. It would have been more effective if she didn’t look so pale, one wrong move from hurling again. “It’s definitely not that.”

“Then what, gingerbread?” The nickname was relatively new, but worn in enough that she didn’t give him shit for it. Or maybe she was feeling too crappy to bite back.

“I just,” she winced. “You’re not going to want to hear about it, so just…” she clutched at her stomach. “Leave me alone, okay.”

_I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m worried about you._ All things he couldn’t say. “Max,” he said, slowly, raised an eyebrow, hoped it conveyed all of the above.

“I – “ she looked supremely uncomfortable, blood rushing up to her pale face and leaving her all blotchy. She rolled her eyes, kept them focused on the stain in the corner of the bathroom ceiling instead of Billy. Suze had tried to clean it so many times, but it remained stubbornly speckled brown. “I just get sick sometimes, when I’m…” she trailed off, grit out through her teeth, “time of the month.”

“Yep, definitely didn’t want to know that,” Billy said airily, turned to go back to his room, “have fun puking.”

“Billy wait,” she burst out, sounding desperate. Fuck. “Could you get me some Tylenol?”

“Max – “ It was meant to come out like a threat, ended up sounding more like a plea. One more word from her and he knew he’d cave.

“Please?”

“You really sure we don’t have any?” he was clutching at fuckin’ straws now, Jesus.

“Yeah, I checked like five times,” she said.

"Then just pop a couple of my painkillers, no one'll know."

"I'm not doing that Billy, _God."_

_Shit._ He rubbed at his forehead. “Why can’t your little boyfriend go pick some up for you? Isn’t that _his_ job?”

“Lucas? Seriously?” She was half whining, half yelling. Her pyjama pants had penguins on them. “I can’t ask him shit like that.”

“Oh right,” he snorted, “but you can ask _me?”_ Despite all the bluster he was putting on for her benefit, he was actually starting to panic a little. Not because of the task itself, but because it was a level of familial intimacy he’d never sought out, never expected her to trust him with or ask him for.

“This isn’t exactly fun for me either Billy – “

“Yeah, no shit, Maxine.”

“But you’re the only one here,” she finished quietly.

_Fuck._

Cut to Billy standing like some kinda idiot in the middle of the drug store, Tylenol in hand, and staring at the honest to God _wall_ of feminine hygiene products. He’d been on his way to the register when it hit him that she might have actually needed him to pick something up for her but had been too embarrassed to ask. And he sure as shit hadn’t asked before he’d left either so… Fuck that. Not happening. He thought he might grab her some Skittles on the way out though, before he headed home. Maybe Doritos too, he wasn’t sure if she swung towards sweet or savoury when she was feeling shitty.

“ – whatever you might think about it, Harrington.”

“That’s only because you think she’s – “

“That is totally besides the point, my friend. Just because she has an admittedly flawed taste in music, doesn’t mean – “

Billy looked up just in time to see Harrington and the chick he worked in the video store with round the corner, both drawing up short when they saw him. The three of them just stared for a second, a stand-off from the old westerns he used to watch growing up with his old man. Except at 12:38pm in a drugstore of a Saturday, Madonna chirping through tinny speakers, the smell of dust and antiseptic. Billy's hand holding the Tylenol twitched. He felt the discomfort crawling across his shoulders, but made himself keep standing straight, couldn’t help but notice they way Harrington curled in on himself a little.

“Hey,” Robin said, breaking the tension as she took a step closer, nodded to the boxes, “me too!”

Billy blinked at her. Eventually found his voice. “Too much info, Buckley.”

She clutched at her chest, eyes gone comically big and voice all breathy. “I can’t believe Billy Hargrove knows my name.”

He snorted, couldn’t quite be bothered to make a dig at her back. “For my sister.”

“Not a girlfriend, then?” Harrington said, and Billy’s head was suddenly full of images of hopeless romantic Steve Harrington smiling away with his arms full of Tampax, Tylenol and Hershey’s kisses for Wheeler. Of course he would. Was the type to go all out, even for something like that.

“No,” Billy almost laughed, turned to contemplate the shelves again. “That sorta thing hasn’t exactly been high on my list of priorities.”

“Right,” Harrington said, quiet, guilty, eyes shifting away from him to fix on the ugly carpet instead. “Sure.”

“Jesus.” He heard Buckley tsk, out of the corner of his eye saw her step up beside him, point out a purple box on the shelf. “Get her these,” she tapped a black painted nail on the cardboard, “pretty safe bet.”

He turned to frown at her. They weren’t friends. She’d rung him and Max up at the store a couple times, Harrington hiding from him behind the shelves, and he’d been surprised to find he didn’t hate talking to her. But they weren’t _friends._ And it baffled him, how she could throw him such an easy smile like that, when she was one of the few who knew what he’d done. “Thanks.”

She tossed him a salute, and hooked an arm through Harrington’s to drag him away. Harrington let her, still watching Billy like he wasn’t sure what was happening. Billy’s lip curled. They were probably there for condoms. Big Saturday night plans after work. He sorta hated them for it. Firstly because what he’d said to Harrington was true – he hadn’t felt remotely in the mood for any if that bullshit since he’d come back home, the pretence or the real thing. The second reason he didn’t want to think about too much.

Mrs Crewe stared at him while she rung him up. Like she could see the messy web of scars across his chest, and like she knew he deserved every single one of ‘em.

The whole thing left him feeling a bit off. Not completely going to lose it and fall apart off, but still not good. He drove home first, to drop the bag with Tylenol and the snacks on Max’s lap with a terse ‘you’re welcome’ before he turned tail and went back out to the car.

Without thinking, he found himself taking the road towards the edge of town, to the field he’d stopped in before, with the hopes it might bring him the tenuous peace he’d found there again. He’d been there twice already since the first time, to escape the eyes of the town, to quiet the rushing push and pull inside his head. Only this time, when he hopped over the wooden fence, he realised there was already someone there. Five someones. Horses. He froze, worried for a second they were going to take offence and chase him away or something. But they didn’t. Two of them looked up, blinked at him once, then went back to lazily tearing at the grass. He stood a while, unsure and slightly nervous of them – not that he’d admit it. He was a city boy, and they were big and unfamiliar and unpredictable. But when five minutes had passed, and they’d done nothing more than twitch their ears at the sound of him nervously shifting his weight, it seemed pretty obvious they didn’t give a shit if he was there or not. He sat down, real careful, on the sun-warm grass. Partly because he was worried sudden moves might spook 'em, and secondly because he was fucking sore; he'd driven too long and too hard, and spent most of the morning all tensed up. They continued to graze, paid him no mind at all, flicking their tails to keep away the flies as they ambled around the field. One walked over, sniffed at his knee, then left him be again. Its breaths were long and slow, deep, and he tried to match them for a while, just to see if he could. They smelt sweet. Dusty. Warmth and crushed grass. One snorted and looked up. It was a gingery brown colour, with a big white mark over one eye. In his head, he started calling that one Max.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said it wasn’t going to alternate Billy/Steve PoVs, and it’s not, but it just works out we get another Steve here. I’ve never been to a laundromat in small town Indiana in the 80s, so.

Steve’s washer was broken. He’d called up a guy to fix it from the list of numbers on the fridge, held up with a lone tacky magnet his mom had brought back from Chicago one year she’d missed his birthday and felt guilty, but he couldn’t make it over for a couple of days. And Steve had already decided to do laundry today – to feel like he’d actually achieved something, y’know? – meaning that if he didn’t follow through with it now he’d feel like a total failure. And also he’d run out of socks, so. Laundromat it was.  
He maybe could’ve driven over to Dustin’s place to use his mom’s washer, and she probably would have thanked him for it. Would whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies and send him home with a stack of Tupperware full of enough food to last him a week. But she also probably wouldn’t let him leave, and that would mean his whole day off down the drain. Don’t get him wrong, he could think of a whole bunch of worse ways to spend a day off than hanging out with Dustin and his mom, which was maybe a little sad, but… not today. 

The roads were quiet on the drive into town, late morning on a Tuesday and everyone already well into their work or school days, and there were plenty of parking spots on the street not far from the laundromat. He heaved the bag of laundry out of the car, regretting that it was a chore that had slipped his mind for so long. There was a lot of it. So much, that when he settled the weighty bag in his grip, he could barely see over the top of it. He should’ve tackled it sooner. It was one of those things that just… kinda took a backseat. He squinted as he set off down the sidewalk, low fall sun in his eyes and laundry bag blocking his view, and bumped right into someone just outside the laundromat. 

“Well shit, you can do your own laundry?” Crap. Of all the people in Hawkins he could have literally run into with a bag of dirty laundry… “Didn’t know you had it in you, pretty boy.”

He shifted the bag in his grip, peering around it so he could see him properly. Not that he needed to look to know who it was. ”Hargrove.”

“Thought you’d have servants for that, rich boy.” He was smirking around a lollipop in his mouth, which Steve guessed meant he was still managing to keep off the smokes. Max had told them a while back that he wasn’t allowed them anymore, something about damage to his lung. The sun was behind him, lit him up. His hair was slowly growing out, fluffy and just starting to curl around his ears. 

The way he said it, the teasing tone, the smug smile, the little tilt of his head, was so like the old Billy that he just stared. For a flash of a moment, it was like they were back at school; the new boy trying to pull the rug out from under him, take an imagined title he no longer cared about. _I’ve been waiting to meet this ‘King Steve’ everyone’s been telling me so much about._ Eventually he shook it off, a little tongue-tied and arms starting to ache as he gripped the clothes tighter. “Um, no. No servants.” 

“Sure,” the other boy said, like he didn’t believe him. Another day, another time, and Steve might have found it irritating. “You need help?”

Steve shook his head, eager to cut the whatever this was short, and made towards the door. “I got it, Hargrove. It’s just laundry.”

“Yeah right,” Hargrove rolled his eyes, all smiles, and pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. It was purple. Apparently he still got a kick out of being a pain in Steve’s ass, but it didn’t feel the same as before. Still pushy, but less outright hostile, angry. He got the door for Steve before he could protest. 

“What are you doing?” Steve said, hopes that he could still somehow wriggle out of the whole situation growing smaller by the second. 

“I’m helping, dumbass,” Hargrove gestured to the open doorway. His shirt was blue flannel and buttoned all the way up, apart from the very last button at the collar. 

“Uh…” He thought of the times he’d purposely avoided Hargrove at Family Video, the little frown on his face when Steve and Robin had run into him at the drug store. The way that he’d always avoided Steve’s eye in the school showers after his run in with Max and the nail bat, and the promise Steve had made to himself to just fucking talk to him. “Okay,” Steve stepped into the warm, detergent smelling air of the laundromat, raised his voice above the whir of the machines to be heard. Not that Billy was listening. “Okay. Thanks.”

It didn’t hit him until five minutes later, when Billy was elbow deep in his worn boxers and sweaty shirts he wore to sleep in, jeans with a spaghetti stain on the crotch, how much of a bad idea it was. But he’d been too slow on the uptake to do anything about it, and before he knew it he was shoulder to shoulder with Billy Hargrove, sorting his colours from his lights. He was intensely aware of how close he was standing, the warmth coming off of him. He might have lost a little muscle mass with all his time in hospital, but he still felt solid, an inescapable presence. It was round about then Steve noticed he didn’t smell like cigarettes like he used to. Or his trashy excess of cologne. And also when he realised he’d known _what Billy Hargrove used to smell like._ Which was just fucking nuts. But now it was mostly just regular soap. Sugar and fake fruit on his breath every time he spoke, from the lollipop. Grass, or leaves maybe? Something outdoorsy anyway. One thing that had stayed the same was the old leather smell he carried with him from the Camaro’s upholstery. Steve caught himself leaning closer, chasing after the familiar smell, and made himself pull back.

Billy whistled, drawing a disapproving frown from Mrs Golding at the next machine over, a pair of Steve’s briefs hanging from his finger. “I can’t believe I’m holding Steve Harrington’s underwear.”

“Aw, fuck you,” Steve said without any heat, and made a grab for them. They happened to be a favourite pair of his, navy striped and a real good fit, the pair he usually wore on a date if he knew he’d be getting lucky. Not that it had happened for a while; he’d only worn them because he’d run out of other options. The pair he was wearing right now was probably better not talked about. 

“Nuh uh,” Billy jerked them out of his reach. The abrupt movement made him wince a little, and he rubbed lightly at his chest. Steve wasn’t sure he even knew he was doing it. “What’s the hurry, pretty boy?”

He blew his hair out of his eyes. “Come on, man.”

“What’s the matter? They your lucky pair or some shit?” 

“Not exactly.”

Billy snorted, looked at the underwear bunched in his fist. “Y’know, I could sell these to some horny sophomore and make more in one go than Suze makes at both her jobs.”

Steve paused sorting through socks. Billy’s stepmom worked two jobs? He’d never really stopped to think about it before, but things would probably be tight at the Hargrove house, with Billy’s dad out of the picture and Billy himself unable to work for fuck knows how long. Steve had seen his injuries first hand and… they weren’t the sort of shit anyone could get over quickly. The way he’d winced a moment ago proved he was still a long way off being better. He knew Billy’s hospital bills were covered by Doctor Owens or whatever, same went for all of them, to sweeten the non-disclosure deal. And he knew they had some kind of compensation for Billy’s dad’s death, same as every family who’d lost someone in the ‘accident’ at the mall. Everyone who Billy’d… yeah. But he hadn’t stopped to think about the slack his stepmom would’ve had to pick up. He’d been brought up not to talk about money, and knew Hargrove wouldn’t appreciate it if he did, but that wouldn’t stop him thinking about it.

“Hargrove – “

“Holy shit, Harrington,” Bill had apparently gotten bored with Steve’s underwear, was pulling something else out of the bag, “this what you wear when you’re home alone?”

“What - ?” He looked down at what Billy was holding. It was a cropped sports jersey, something he only wore if he could rustle up the motivation to go for a run and it was hotter than hell out. “No. Working out.”

Billy hummed, smoothed his thumb over the red number seventeen. “Even better. Could probably sell this too, if you got it good and sweaty enough.”

Steve couldn’t help it that time, a laugh tumbled out when he swiped the jersey out of Billy’s hand to throw into the washer. “Yeah? We should into business.”

Billy shook his head, smiled all soft around the edges, and dropped his gaze to the clothes inside the washer. “Christ, Harrington,” his smile widened when something caught his eye, and he reached in, “lucky I’m here, huh.” He opened his hand to show him the red sock that had somehow ended up in with the lights. Probably while Steve had been busy watching Billy’s hands picking through his dirty laundry; the tail end of a silver-pink scar just visible at his wrist where the sleeve of his flannel shirt rode up. The little nicks and twists of new-healed scars on his palms and fingers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve took the sock and tossed it in with the darks, annoyed, though only a little, because of course he knew how to use the goddamn washer, just… the universe always seemed determined to embarrass him in front of Billy Hargrove, “my goddamn hero.” He thought of Hargrove’s face lit up in flashes of blue and pink, mouth a hard line and blood on his face as he turned to face the Mindflayer, and belatedly realised there was more truth to it than he’d thought. “You’re a regular domestic goddess, Hargrove,” he added, trying to keep things light before Billy caught the look on his face at the frankly fucking terrible memory. 

But he must have been too late to hide the twist of discomfort on his face, because Hargrove’s previously open, easy smile dropped a bit, face shuttering. “What can I say Harrington, some of us had to learn to take care of ourselves.” 

“Sorry,” he rushed to try and smooth is over, already missing the relatively easy back and forth they’d had going on, stumbling over himself to keep up the pretence they were both normal for two damn seconds. Wanted to make him smile again. “I – “

“Don’t sweat it, Uptown Girl,” he said, made a visible effort to pull himself back together, lifting his shoulders and twitching the corner of his mouth in a smile that left his eyes dull. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Right,” Steve said, for lack of anything better. As a distraction, for himself or Hargrove he wasn’t sure, he patted down his jean pockets, feeling out his wallet for change for the machine. 

“Harrington, what’s that?” 

Steve looked up to see Billy frowning at a spot just by his ear. He looked behind him, but there was nothing there. “Hargrove, what – “

“Just here,” Billy reached out to the side of Steve’s head, finger brushing the top of his ear. Steve couldn’t do more than blink at him. When Billy drew his hand back he was holding a quarter, and wearing the smuggest goddamn smile he’d ever seen. 

“You asshole!” Steve smacked lightly at his arm, couldn’t help grinning.

“Have a wash on me, Harrington,” Billy said as he pushed the coin into the slot. “And think of me when you step into those lucky underpants.”

Steve snorted, rubbed a hand over his eyes as the washer started up. “Sure, why wouldn’t I. Thanks man.” When he opened his eyes, Billy was gone, the laundromat door swinging shut as he stepped back out onto the street. “Shit,” he said, earned himself another dirty look from Mrs Golding where she sat waiting, well-thumbed magazine in her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I don’t think many people are reading this lol, but the process of writing it is keeping me sane right now so I’m not stopping. Thank you if you’ve left kudos so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments on the last chapter you guys. I feel a hell of a lot better about this fic now, it makes all the difference <3

When Billy looked in the bathroom mirror that morning, rubbed the tiredness from a bad night’s sleep out of his eyes and pushed a hand through his wet hair, he noticed something. Holding his breath, he wiped at where the mirror was still fogged up from his shower to get a better look at his reflection, ran his fingers through his water-dark hair again. Honestly, he’d fallen into the habit of ignoring his haircut when he could, and wearing something with a hood when he couldn’t. But feeling it between his fingers that morning, he wondered if it finally might have grown out just enough to start styling a bit.

“Well shit,” he grinned, looking a little crazy, at his own misty reflection.

Sure, it was nothing like it had been, but the difference was just enough to push him into a good mood. Enough to make him want to splash out and buy a little product for it, encourage the few curls starting to show themselves. None of his old hair stuff was in the house; Max had hidden it away when he’d come home so he wouldn’t get upset, but he’d chucked most of it out himself when he’d discovered it stuffed behind a pile of towels and gotten upset anyway. He couldn’t help the happy little whoop he let out before he hopped off to get dressed. Looked like it was going to be a good fuckin’ day.

The drugstore was quiet, with all the kids at school and whatever, and it didn’t take him long to pick out some product for his hair. Only the cheap shit, he wasn’t exactly rolling in cash these days. But before the girl could ring him up, he impulsively grabbed a bottle of blue sparkly nail polish for Max too, and fuck the extra it cost him. Because he was _almost_ happy, the closest he’d felt to it in a long time, and he wanted to do something fucking nice for his little shit of a sister, alright? He knew she had big plans for her next sleepover with El; since the weather had started to turn, fewer hours of daylight and more time spent indoors, the two of them had suddenly gone nuts for doing their nails. Not that they took it too seriously, the general rule seemed to be the brighter, the better. Every time Max got her mom to drop her over to the chief’s trailer, she had a stack of those crappy teen magazines under her arm, pages with manicure ideas folded back ready for her and El to play at. El never came to stay at the Hargrove house anymore. That was on Billy. He’d seen the kid once or twice since he’d come home; it was kind of unavoidable when the brats spent so much time together. But it’d made him uncomfortable as hell, brought everything back in a screaming, cold rush, like _that thing_ was brushing its shadowy fingers down his spine. She was a smart kid though, and the sad little nod she’d sent his way the last time he’d seen her made it clear she’d understood. He just needed a little more time. He fished a lollipop out of his pocket - they were helping him keep off the smokes - and gave the girl at the counter a wink. She chewed on her lip as she handed over the polish and hair product, and he sauntered back out of the store feeling lighter than fuckin’ air.

If Billy’d been having a bad day, things might have gone differently when he bumped into Harrington. Or technically when Harrington bumped into _him,_ bag in his arms the size of a Saint Bernard blocking his view of the sidewalk. If Billy’d been having a bad day, or even one of his alright-but-the-slightest-thing-might’ve-tipped-it-into-a-bad-day days, he probably would have turned tail and scooted into the nearest store to avoid him. But he was feeling so _goddamn fucking great _when Harrington nearly knocked him off his feet with his big bag of dirty laundry, that he didn’t want to let him off so easy. Slipping back into the old habit of prodding at him felt just as easy and comfortable as snapping shut the clasp on his mom’s necklace. He looked at Harrington's big hands holding onto the bag of laundry like his life depended on it, and held open the door to the laundromat.

“What are you doing?” Harrington said, frowning in confusion, shoulders tense and looking every bit like he wanted to escape, leave Billy in the dust.

“I’m helping, dumbass,” he gestured to the open doorway, scent of detergent making his nose itch, and waited for Steve to take the hint.

‘Helping’ was a bit of a relative term; he couldn’t honestly say he was helping just to be nice, doing a good turn for a buddy from school. He was helping because the sight of Harrington still made his heart kick, because bothering him made him feel a bit like Old Billy again. Because he _liked_ looking at him, and it was a perfect opportunity to look as much as he wanted. There was something at the back of his mind though, some whispering, cruel voice, telling him he was being stupid. He wasn’t Old Billy after all, no cologne and no cigarettes, no long hair, no leather jacket or earring. No armour. A voice that could have been Neil or even himself, insisting that the other boy wouldn’t want to talk to him at all, whether it be Old Billy or Billy Now or a mix of both. But it was a good day, and _Harrington_ was there and he just wanted…. He let himself do it.

“Y’know,” he said, pair of Steve’s briefs bunched in his fist, “I could sell these to some horny sophomore and make more in one go than Suze makes at both her jobs.” Or he could swipe them for himself and hide them at the back of own underwear drawer, but after he’d made such a big joke out of that little navy striped pair in particular, there was a pretty big chance he’d notice.

“Hargrove – “

“Holy shit, Harrington,” he dropped the underwear into the washer to pull out something else that caught his eye. A cropped sports jersey. Something that he desperately wanted to laugh at him for, but also happened to be hotter than hell. “This what you wear when you’re home alone?” What a thought.

“What?” Harrington blinked at him. “No. Working out.”

Billy hummed, smoothed his thumb over the red number seventeen. “Even better. Could probably sell this too, if you got it good and sweaty enough.”

The laugh Steve let out at that startled Billy into silence for a second, loud and dumb and genuine, and it caught him by surprise. Steve couldn’t hide his emotions for shit. He was still smiling when he swiped the jersey out of Billy’s hands, more relaxed than he’d looked the whole time they’d been in the laundromat. Billy didn’t think he’d ever seen Steve look so at ease while the two of them were breathing the same air. “Yeah? We should into business.”

Billy had to look away.

By the time he’d delivered his line about the quarter and left the laundromat, Billy was practically glowing. He was giddy with it, already good mood buoyed by his chance run in with Harrington. But he faltered a little when he got back to the Camaro, remembered the look Harrington had shot at him – hopelessly obvious – that made it clear he hadn’t forgotten the things Billy had done. The way Billy’s face must have done something similar without his permission, as good old King Steve at once leapt into action to try and smooth it over again. The fact that he’d tried to counted for something, he supposed. But it was a reminder that Billy didn’t deserve it, _him,_ any of it. The second chance he’d gotten. That he was bound to ruin things sooner or later, put them back to square one, put them back before the starting line, even. But even that knowledge wasn’t quite enough to bring him down, wasn’t enough to erase the way Harrington had bit his lip against a smile when Billy pushed the quarter into the machine.

***

It was the first time he’d gone to the field feeling sort of happy, half a smile pulling at his mouth as he hopped the fence. His abdomen twinged a bit as his boots hit the hard ground, but that wasn’t enough to stop him smiling. The five horses looked up in interest as he approached, but went back to grazing when they saw it was only him. He’d been going to the field long enough that the names he’d given them all in his head had started to stick. There was Max, of course, the gingery brown one prone to grumpiness. There was Nikki, Rudolf, and Lars. And then there was Harrington, the big, dopey brown one who tripped over its own feet. He didn’t sit down; the grass was kinda wet and he didn’t want a damp patch on his ass. Was too agitated to sit still anyway. Although that made it sound like a bad thing, when in reality he was more like a damn puppy too excited to stop wagging its tail.

“You’ve got the same colour hair,” he said to Harrington the horse, telling him about his namesake as he petted his nose, “the same big ol’ brown eyes. I've always been a sucker for brown eyes, what can I tell ya?” he shrugged, and the horse blinked at him. “I guess he is a little prettier than you, sorry. But we won’t tell him that, huh?” 

Harrington the horse didn’t say anything back. But he did look up, made a funny little horsey noise when something across the field caught his attention. Billy followed where he was looking, saw an old man with a handful of halters making his way over. _Shit._ He tensed up, should have made a run for it, but the man was too close now, had seen Billy’s face. By the time he’d gotten his head on straight, bolting would have made it worse, and he wasn’t sure his legs would have held up anyway. He tried to square up, to get himself ready to bullshit his way out of whatever was about to happen. 

The man drew up short, frowned at him from under the brim of his hat. “Who the hell are you?”

“I uh, I’ve just been coming here to get out of town,” he started, annoyed by how unsure of himself he sounded. “Like I didn’t know it belonged to anyone or whatever, it was just quiet and – “

“Okay, I – “

“Then the horses were here and I kinda liked spending time with them, okay? I didn’t mean to trespass, it’s a free goddamn country.” He could feel his hackles rising, on the defensive and ready to argue.

“Easy, don’t give yourself a heart attack, son,” the man shook his head, gave him an eye roll worthy of Max.

Billy just snorted, folded his arms across his chest and eyed him warily. Wasn’t quite sure what his next move should be. Running now would’ve made him look like a class A idiot, but he had no fuckin’ idea what to say that wouldn’t make him sound more crazy than he already did.

“You done?”

“…Yeah.”

“Good. Since you’re here,” the man said, tossed a couple of the dusty halters at him, “you can take those two for me.” He nodded to Harrington and Nikki.

“Um, what?” Billy wasn’t sure what was happening. He was pretty sure he should be being yelled at by now.

“Put the halters on ‘em,” the old man said carefully, like Billy was stupid, “and follow me down to the barn.”

“Right.”

He turned his back on Billy and quickly got a halter on Max, and all out of fucking options, Billy attempted to get one of the halters on Nikki. He fumbled a little bit because his hands were still kinda stiff and he’d never held one of those things before in his life, but he managed. Harrington gave him a little more trouble, tossed his head around and made it hard for Billy to reach. “Hey, stop fuckin’ me around,” he said quietly as the horse continued to do just that, “makin’ me look like a dick in front of the old man.”

Nikki in one hand and Harrington in the other, Billy followed the man leading the other three horses across the field, to where a small farmhouse and an old barn were hidden in a dip behind the trees. The barn smelt of horses and hay dust, warm and dry. At the old guy’s direction, Billy got the two horses settled in their stalls.

“You’re that boy, aren’t you?” the man said, scratching age-thickened fingers through Max’s mane. It dimly occurred to him he should ask their real names, now he knew they had a real owner.

“What?”

“The one everyone was talking about last time I went into town,” he said. “The one who almost got himself killed saving those kids when that twice-damned mall collapsed in the fire.”

Shit. Any sense of peace he’d gotten from hanging out with the horses evaporated once again as Billy started to panic. That familiar voice, the one telling him he was a liar and a fraud and a murderer, started to creep into his head, claw at the back of his skull. His mouth felt dry and ashy, every mark that thing had left behind on him started to ache. So he did what he always did when someone started asking questions about it; dredged up a smile and said yeah. What else was he supposed to say? 

He nodded. “Recognised you from your picture in the paper.” 

“Right.” Billy’d never been in the papers in his whole life before the fourth of July 1985, and he sure as shit hoped he never was again.

The man watched him for a long time, eyes narrowed and stroking his grey moustache in thought. At worst, Billy thought, he might call the cops on him for trespassing. At best, send him away and tell him not to come back. Either way, he’d lost one of the few things keeping him from going off the rails.

“Okay,” the man said eventually.

“Huh?”

“You can come sit with the horses any time you like, if it helps you some,” he moved away from Max to scratch at Lars’ spotted neck. “One of my grandkids does the same thing. This guy’s her favourite.”

Billy was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Good shit didn’t just happen to him, at least not without a solid backhand right after to put him back in his place. “Thanks?”

“Just don’t let me catch you messin’ with ‘em, you hear?”

“No, sir.”

The old man waved an impatient hand at him. “None of that now. Call me Jack.”

By the time Billy got home, the nerves his unexpected run-in with the horses’ owner had brought on had dissipated. He went straight to the kitchen to make a start on dinner before Susan got home, head full of the smell of horse and hay dust, and Steve Harrington’s laundry detergent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy would 100% name the horses after musicians in his head, fight me.


	6. Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first interlude-type-chapter that isn't Steve or Billy PoV.  
Tiny warning for Billy's mindflayer fuelled nightmares. Nothing worse what's been written before, but still.

Billy had been extremely nice the last couple of days, and it was weird. Not exceptionally so; things were better between them now than they’d ever been, but the change in him since he’d come back from the hospital had been so gradual, with all kinds of setbacks and a smattering of particularly good or bad days, that it had kind of snuck up on her just how different everything was. It was a little scary how quick she’d gotten used to the good days, to the changes in her brother. She didn’t spend much time dwelling on it if she could help it; no good came from thinking too hard about before, or the cluster of dark days centred around the fourth of July. But on the odd occasion she was alone and her thoughts took themselves off down that path, she realised she was always half waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Billy to smack the small pieces of himself he’d given her to hold out of her hands again, like he had before. 

He’d started to get better after she’d jabbed him in the neck with the syringe on the night in the tunnels back in November, had made good on his sort-of promise to leave her alone. Was still an asshole, just less loud about it, to put it as simply as she could. But after Starcourt, after he’d had that son of a bitch living in head and almost died, he was – understandably – different. The changes in him had changed her too, in small weights and measures. She was more careful. More patient, maybe. She thought of the shit she used to put up with from him when they’d first moved to Hawkins, how quickly she’d snap back at him, get hot in the face and stomp her foot. When he came home from the hospital even, she’d huffed and sighed and rolled her eyes every time Billy chose to be difficult. It was easier for them both to stay in the roles they’d already set out. But she’d learned to ignore ninety percent of his bitching and yelling because she knew he didn’t mean it, used it as a kind of defence mechanism to distract from something else. Like if he was feeling especially shitty, or afraid of what might be hiding in the shadow behind his bedroom door, or if he’d said something a little too nice and it left him feeling vulnerable. The other ten percent he did mean, was usually directed at himself, and was when he needed her most.

She should have guessed that his sudden spell of happiness would end with the same abruptness it’d started with.

He’d come home yesterday afternoon with a smile on his face – she’d watched him walk up the drive from the living room window, toss his keys up in the air and catch them again – and gone straight into the kitchen to start making dinner. She’d gone to say hi and pretend to offer to help, in the hopes of him putting the canned carrots back the cupboard and persuading him to make mac and cheese instead. Which he’d seen right through in two seconds flat when she’d told him he made the best mac and cheese in the world, and told her to ‘quit brown nosin’ and set the table.’ He was still sort-of-smiling by the time she was done, humming something as he’d ruffled her hair and told her to quit sulking. She’d been about to argue back that she wasn’t sulking, but then he’d pulled a bottle of nail polish out of his pocket and set it on the table, said he knew she and El were practising. She’d thanked him, feeling like she’d missed something, but he’d only shrugged. It was about then she’d realised that he smelt like a barnyard, which had only raised more questions. That night she’d heard him shifting about in his room, pacing the carpet and the squeak of his bed, smaller and shittier than hers, making his poor night’s sleep obvious. But that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. They both had bad nights. 

She woke up early the next morning. A broken night’s sleep tended to have her up before her alarm went off. Knowing she wasn’t going to get any more sleep, she dragged herself out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for school. Maybe she could talk Billy into making pancakes for breakfast. He was up early as a rule; partly a habit forced into him by Neil, and partly because he preferred to up and doing something after a crappy night. But any hope of that vanished when she walked past his room. She paused for a second, listened, wanted to be sure. She could hear him crying.

“Shit. Billy?” she called softly from outside his door, not wanting to wake her mom, “Billy can I come in?” She wasn’t going to ask if he was okay. She already knew the answer to that. He didn’t say anything, so she let herself in, carefully shut the door behind her.

He was sitting on the floor with his back against his bed, knees drawn up around him and face half hidden in his hands. The sheets were left in a tangled mess, pillow across the room like it’d been thrown. His fingers were curled tight into his hair, mouth open in a half sob and face wet. She fought back a choking lump in her throat at the way it reminded her of the sauna, Billy sweating and crying and pleading on the floor. He was wearing boxers and a t shirt to sleep in, the twisted bursts of silver-pink scars visible all up his hands and forearms. It was still a shock every time she saw them, or when he slipped up and let her catch a glimpse of the ones on his chest.

“Billy,” she started again, voice faint, but steady. He needed her. “Billy, what’s the matter?”

“I let it get her.” He spoke so quiet, she could hardly hear him.

“What?” she knelt on the carpet, careful to leave a space between them. He didn’t always like to be touched when he was like this, knew from the early days when she'd tried and made it a whole lot worse.

“I let it get her,” he moved his hands away from his face to look up, eyes red and full of tears, “I couldn’t stop it in time Max, I couldn’t stop it.”

“Hey, Billy it’s okay – “

“No!” his bare feet slid on the carpet as he tried to push himself further back. “I let it get your friend,” his voice cracked, “it got her Max it’ll get you too if you get any closer please, please…”

“Billy, shh,” she tried to soothe him, feeling dimly guilty for talking to him like he was a twitchy house cat, “you were dreaming.”

“No, Max – “ he looked around the room, eyes darting and wild, jumping between the shadows in search of the monster.

“El’s alive,” she said, edging the tiniest bit closer, “you saved her. You saved all of us, Billy. You fought him off, and we won. Okay? We won.”

“It’s… gone?” he said, voice small, like he hardly dared believe her.

“Yeah,” she said, right in front of him now. “It’s all over, okay? You were just dreaming. I know it sucks,” she reached out to put the very tips of her fingers on his knee, encouraged when he didn’t jerk away, “but what you just saw wasn’t how it happened.”

“You promise?” he sounded like a scared little child and it made her heart fucking break.

“Yeah,” she said again, swiped at a tear. “Um, look at your hands. You see those scars?" She tried to keep her voice low, but it was hard when she was so shook up, and the room around them seemed so thick with quiet. "Those are from when you stepped right in front of that son of a bitch and stopped him from hurting her. You stopped it, Billy.”

He watched her for a minute, blinking, breathing hard, until his jumbled mix of dream and memory straightened itself back out. She saw the moment he realised it, shoulders slumping in relief and head bowed down. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” She stayed sitting with him, one hand lightly touching his knee, until he was ready to talk.

“I’m sorry, gingerbread,” his voice was rough, like he had a cold.

She wasn’t sure which part he was saying sorry for. But since she’d forgiven him for most of it anyway, it didn’t really matter. “I know. It’s okay.”

He grunted. “I just - I can’t remember which parts are real, sometimes.”

She nodded, pausing when she remembered something she’d overheard Will say about it once, about keeping what was real separate from what wasn't, and an idea quickly took shape in her head. “Hey um, will you be okay for two seconds? I want to go get something.”

“Whatever,” he waved her away, rubbing at his eyes.

She got up and padded quickly down the hall to her bedroom. The thing she was looking for was where she always kept it, more or less, in the mess of things on top of her nightstand. She grabbed it and went back to Billy.

“You remember this?” she opened up her hand, to show him the small hunk of rose quartz in her palm. She’d picked it out herself, one birthday not long after her mom and Neil had gotten married. On reflection, it was obvious he’d been playing at keeping them happy, showing what a good husband and father he could be. It was the only reason Max could think of that he’d deign to set foot in the hippie store she’d dragged them all into, full of incense and crystals and colourful clothing for sale. He sure as shit wouldn’t have done anything like that after they’d moved. 

“Should I?" She knew he did, he’d teased her for it for the entire rest of the day until his dad had snapped and chewed him out for it.

“You remember what the girl at store told me it helped with?”

“No.”

“Love, healing, peace, and relationships,” she said.

He snorted. That was good, it sounded like him again. “Sounds like bullshit to me, Maxine.” Yep, he was definitely feeling a little better.

“Maybe,” she said, “but that’s not why I want you to have it. I just thought that... if you were holding it, then you'd know what was real? Like, if you can feel it in your hand, you'll know for sure that we won, and that you’re safe. If you can't feel it, it's not real.”

He rolled his eyes. “Max, I don’t need some hunk of rock to – “

“Just stop being an asshole and take it,” she said, suddenly feeling like it was a stupid idea after all, and held it out to him.

“You really think it’ll work?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’s worth a try.”

“Fine,” he looked reluctant, more than a little sceptical, but took it anyway. “Thanks.”

She caught sight of the clock on Billy’s nightstand, and realised she was going to be really late if she didn’t get going. “I have to go get ready for school,” she said, got to her feet.

“Shit,” he looked up at her, all wide eyes again and hands gone tight, “okay, I should be able to – “

“I’ll call Steve,” she cut him off before he got himself too worked up again, “he said he could give me a ride any time you… can’t.”

His mouth tightened. “Okay.”

“Can I ask you a favour?” she bit her lip. She knew he wouldn’t want to hear what she was about to say.

“Shoot.”

“Do you think it’s maybe time you saw El?” she said, watched closely as he tensed up all over again.

“I don’t – “

“I know it’ll be hard, but I really think it might help,” she pushed. “With the dreams, but other stuff too.”

He pressed his lips together, rolled the rose quartz between his fingers. “I’ll think about it.”

She nodded. “Okay.” That was all she could ask.

“Good. Now buzz off. I’m gunna try and get some sleep.”

She left him then, feeling like something had been resolved despite knowing that was far from the case in reality, and went to call Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Billiam next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s ready for some sickening fluff because by God, that’s all you’re getting this chapter.

Billy was waiting for Max outside the high school. He slouched low in his seat, music turned right down, and hoped nobody looked his way. Which was pretty unlikely, considering his car was about the most easily recognisable in town, and attracted even more curious stares now it was a little beat up. And despite it being months since Starcourt, rumours about him were still being passed back and forth between bored townspeople, picking through old gossip like hungry vultures, raking it over again and again, desperate for entertainment. He could really do with Town Hall catching fire or the newly re-opened Radio Shack being broken into, just to shift that small-town curiosity away from him. Not that all the whispers about him were necessarily bad.

He’d spent the last week or so doing odd jobs for Jack – learning how to clean out stalls and feed the horses and lugging bales of hay around. As much as his weaker and still temperamental body would let him, anyway. There were a couple of times he’d had to take a breather, had pushed himself a little too hard a little too soon in his frustration. He enjoyed the work, it emptied his head. And obviously it was way too early for him to look any different for it, but he had been starting to _feel_ it, the good kind of burn that came with using his wasted muscles again. If he kept it up, it wouldn’t be long before he started to build up a bit more strength. And it must have put a little pep in his step, because despite him being covered head to toe in old flannels and hooded jackets, looser fit jeans than he’d ever worn in his life, people, _girls,_ had started smiling at him again. Which frankly, was fucking exhausting, when he was generally too uncomfortable around most people to even look them in the eye. He’d thought it might be nice, to feel like a fraction of his old self, but he didn’t want any of it. Not yet, anyway. People at the high school still recognised him too, whispered about all the things _The_ Billy Hargrove had done within those walls as they went to their cars. It was all bullshit. He rolled the little piece of rose quartz Max had given him between his fingers while he waited for her. The weight of it in his hand did help stop him from falling too far into his own head, sometimes, despite his initial protests about it being a stupid idea.

“Hey, Hargrove!” 

The shout came from a little ways across the lot and he tensed up, ready to tell whoever the fuck it was to buzz off. But when he looked up, it was Harrington. Hair flopped over his eyes as he half-jogged between the parked cars, thick, puffy vest on over a stripy sweater and smiling all lopsided at him. Dork.

“The fuck are you doing here Harrington?” he rolled down the window as he approached. Couldn’t stop himself from perking up at the mere sight of him, immediately felt a little less wrung out, and tried to keep it under wraps. “Nothing better to do than hang around outside the high school and relive the glory days? That’s pretty sad, man.”

Steve snorted, dropped down to lean his arms on the Camaro’s open window, squinting against the fall sunshine. “No. Dustin needed a hand getting some science project back home, so,” he gestured to himself, “I said I’d give him a ride.”

“Of course you did,” he drawled. “And your girlfriend and the gorilla from Family Video could spare you for such a noble task?”

Steve shook his head, laughed a little, all soft, easy happiness. Billy wanted to scream. Or burrow his face into that stupid vest. Either worked. “Day off.”

A little gust of wind blew across the lot, made Harrington’s hair flop around even more, a whiff of citrusy shampoo as he pushed it back out of his eyes. Billy was worried he smelled like horse. He’d come straight from Jack’s place, where the old guy had been showing him how to get stones and dirt out of their hooves. He squeezed the little pink rock he was holding a bit harder in an attempt to keep himself calm, under the seat and out of sight while Harrington kept on chattering.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “are you giving Max a ride to the arcade later, now that you’re back on the road?” he tapped the Camaro where his hand was resting. “There’s this game they’re all like, obsessed with, and they’re having some dumb tournament or something? Dustin was trying to tell me about it but… I really don’t get what the big deal is, like they’ve played it a thousand times before and I – “

“Yeah yeah, cut the crap,” Billy put a stop to his rambling, it was fumbling and cute and not smooth at all, and Billy didn’t have the willpower to listen to him finish without putting his fist through something. “What can I do for you, Uptown Girl?” Because he’d noticed the way Steve’s mouth had pulled tight in an almost laugh when he’d said it before at the laundromat, and he wanted to make him do it again.

It worked. Harrington rolled his eyes and bit his lip against a smile. “I just uh, I just wondered if you wanted to hang out while they were doing their thing. Y’know, get some pizza or something while we wait. If you’re not busy, or whatever.”

“The fuck else would I possibly be doing at six thirty on a Thursday, Harrington?” He spat out before he could dwell on how much it sounded like Steve was asking him on a date. That was the first thing that popped into his head anyway. The second thing being _of course he’s not you complete lunatic._ His tongue felt stuck to the top of his mouth. Not for the first time since coming back, Billy mourned the fact he couldn’t slap on a smile and a swagger as easy as he used to, throw people off the scent. Instead, he settled on gruffly saying, “what, we friends now?”

“Yep, sorry,” Harrington said brightly. “You paid for my wash remember? I owe you one, man.”

“Mm.” He couldn’t figure out if he should be delighted or pissed that Harrington had apparently decided they were friends now, since he’d invited himself along on Harrington’s trip to the laundromat. He’d supposed he’d sorta asked for it, falling over himself to pull a smile out of him as he rummaged through the other boy’s literal dirty laundry. Whatever he felt about it, there wasn’t a chance in hell he could ever bring himself to say no. He squeezed the rose quartz a little harder, felt a rough corner dig into his palm, and briefly mourned the official end of the careful distance between them he’d maintained for almost a year. He’d get over it; it wasn’t like he’d ever truly wanted that distance anyway. 

“So, you’ll come then?” Harrington pressed when Billy didn’t say anything more, all big eyes and nervous energy, like he actually thought Billy might kick him to the curb.

“You don’t wanna take your girlfriend?” he said, not sure why he was stalling when he already knew he was going to say yes. Self-preservation, maybe.

“Huh?” Steve blinked, mouth open.

“Your girlfriend, Harrington,” he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten her. They don’t tend to like that.”

“I uh,” he wrinkled his nose in confusion, and Billy wanted to kiss that little pout right off of his mouth, dignity be damned. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You mean to tell me you aren’t tapping the chick from the video store?” he tried to sound as if he didn’t care, wasn’t sure if he pulled it off.

“You know her name is Robin,” Steve said with an eye roll. “And yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“Whatever, man.” He couldn’t help the little kick in his chest at that. Couldn’t quite let himself believe it either. Which was dumb – if not the Buckley chick, another one would come along. Never mind being a frontrunner, Billy wasn’t even in the damned race.

“You coming later, or not?”

“If nothing better comes up,” he shrugged.

Steve snorted and straightened up. “Then I’ll see you later, Downtown Man.” He patted the roof of the Camaro, shoved his hands in the pockets of his vest as he walked back to his car.

Billy felt warm all over, smiled to himself like a fuckin’ idiot as Steve walked away. Suddenly cared a lot less about all the kids in the parking lot eyeballing him, or the fact that he was more of a fuck up now than he’d ever been. Because for some reason King Steve Harrington still wanted to hang out with him, came and draped himself all over Billy’s car like an overconfident, showy sophomore to ask him out for pizza, and it made him feel a little bit less like damaged goods.

Then Max was climbing into the car, slamming the door hard enough behind her to snap Billy out of his fuzzy little bubble.

“Hey, careful shithead,” he glared at her, and tapped the steering wheel, “she’s still recovering.”

The ‘so are you’ she obviously wanted to bite out stayed in behind her frown. “Whatever. And I totally saw you smiling to yourself just now. What are you so happy about?”

She said it like she was pissed, but he knew she wasn’t. Ever since she’d reeled him back in from his bad turn the other day, he knew she’d been watching him like a hawk for any signs of impending doom. Knew that if anything, she was probably relieved to see him smiling. Fuck’s sake.

“Nothin’,” he dug in the glovebox for a lollipop. “You need a ride to the arcade later?”

***

“I can’t believe you actually watched _Splash_ with Susan,” Steve grinned around another slice of pepperoni. There was sauce on his chin. 

“Yeah well I didn’t have much choice, Harrington,” Billy said, raising his voice above the bells and buzzers and beeps of the arcade games. “Some sappy asshole from the video store recommended it.”

“Hey, I just told her she should check out the romantic comedy section,” Steve held up his hands in defence, “not my fault she took me up on it.”

“Well, Suze is a pushover,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the sticky arcade carpet, and scooped up another slice.

It _did_ feel like a date. If he ignored that they were in the fuckin’ arcade in downtown Hawkins, that he could see his little sister and her gang of loser friends every time he leant forward to take a sip of Coke, and that the rest of the world still thought they hated each other. Or maybe it didn’t feel like a date exactly, but it sure as shit didn’t feel like he was just grabbing some pizza with a buddy either. He was too hyped up for it to be only that, a little spark of nervous anticipation glowing hot in his belly. But it could never be an actual date. Because it was _Steve_, and the universe wasn’t that kind. Oh boy did Billy know it.

“Oh shit, it was so funny man – “

“I wish you’d been there, you would’ve gotten such a kick out of it – “

“And then I dared Tommy, right, and you know he’s too much of an idiot to say no – “

“Banana milkshake fucking everywhere – “

“I sneezed in her mouth dude, it was so gross – “

Any trace of the hesitation he’d seen from Steve when they’d bumped into each other outside the laundromat was gone, as he reeled off story after story to Billy with big happy smiles and greasy fingers from the shitty arcade pizza. It might not have been a date, but he’d still found himself getting all fancied up for Harrington all the same. He didn’t really know what he expected, or what he was hoping for by doing so. But he guessed it didn’t really matter. He just knew he wanted to look good for him, and for himself, come to that. For the first time in months, he’d wanted to go all out, and finally felt good enough to follow through. His hair was still short, but his curls were coming back thick and fast, he’d slipped in an earring and given himself a generous dousing in cologne. Max had actually coughed when she’d climbed into the car, the little shit. For a brief moment, he’d considered the lone tube of mascara hidden at the back of his drawer, but decided it was probably a little too much for pizza at the damn arcade. He’d pulled on some of his old, tighter jeans, but stuck to a long-sleeved shirt, buttoned all the way up. Thinking about it made him conscious of it again, and he tugged nervously on the ends of the sleeves, watched Steve follow the movement as he kept on talking. His eye caught on the silvery scar slivers creeping up his wrists, the gnarled patches on his hands that would never be right again. But he didn’t say anything about it, and Billy felt himself unfurl a little, sink more comfortably into the shitty vinyl seat.

“… and mine was the biggest. Like, by far.”

Billy snorted at the last of Steve’s fucking ridiculous high school stories, something about making towers out of beer cans after you’ve gunned them or whatever fuckin’ lame party game he was reliving. “Yeah well, size ain’t everything, Harrington.”

“Mm,” Steve said, sat back in his chair and looked just a little bit pleased with himself, “I wouldn’t know.”

Billy almost choked, he laughed so hard.

Harrington was alternately kinda smooth and a total goofball, and that little dumb part of Billy was going absolutely nuts thinking that he might be getting the full date with Steve Harrington experience. Only not a date. Whatever, he was too damn happy to care. But he did hope all this bullshit was coming from some genuine place on Steve’s part, and not just _sorry you got possessed by an interdimensional monster and now your life sucks even more than it did to begin with_ pity pizza. He was still gonna let Steve pay though, because y’know. No job, and no hope of one for a while. Not when his hands only did what he wanted them to half the time, and there was every chance he’d start crying out of fuckin’ nowhere.

He heard a particularly loud groan of despair from Sinclair, and turned to look at the tight knot of gangly kids, half-hidden behind the arcade games and eyes glued to the screen.

“So um,” Harrington sounded suddenly awkward, and Billy mentally held his breath, “are you doing okay? I get it if you don’t wanna talk about it, but – “

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“But Max called me up for a ride to school last week,” Steve pressed on, looking down at where he was running his thumb along the edge of the table, “and I just wanted to… I don’t know, check in, or whatever.”

“I’m _fine,_ Harrington,” he insisted, even managed to pull on a tight half-smile. Would have left it at that, if Steve hadn’t been watching him like an anxious puppy. _Fuck._ “And… when I’m not,” he grit out through his teeth, “Max has it covered. I know it shouldn’t be her job, but…” he trailed off with a shrug, a little guilty, and more than done talking about it.

“Dustin told me Max got them all to come and visit you when you came out of the hospital.”

Billy huffed in annoyance. Honestly, he’d tried to put those few, awkward afternoons out of his head as much as he could. “Wow. What’s a guy gotta do to actually have secrets around here?”

“Come on, you must’ve guessed they’d talk about it. About you. And it’s hardly a secret man, it’s not like I’m reading your diary or anything,” Steve said, shot him another pleased-with-himself little smile that almost had Billy forgiving him for not letting the subject drop. Almost. “And to be honest, I was kinda too busy being embarrassed about the total disaster my visit to you was to spare it a lot of thought.”

Billy hummed, thought back to the image of Harrington standing awkwardly in his bedroom doorway, scuffing his toe like a kid caught doing something naughty, asking him if he was okay. “Yeah, it was terrible. Totally done deaf, Harrington.”

“Shut up asshole, I was trying.”

“If you say so.”

“It was a weird situation man, I – “

“I know, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Billy was feeling kinda good, and he didn’t want to drag either of them down by getting stuck on dumb shit like that, not tonight. So much so, that he found himself spilling more about the good parts than he'd expected. “Little Byers read The Hobbit to me, on uh… a really bad day,” he said quietly. “And Sinclair spent a whole Saturday on our couch, watching a stack of crappy movies he’d brought over with me, even after Max said she wasn’t watching that bullshit and stomped off. And I didn’t thank em for it,” he said, avoiding Steve’s eye and itching for a goddamn smoke, “still haven’t.”

“They know,” Steve said, “they’re smart. And you aren’t that subtle dude, Jesus.”

Billy threw a balled-up napkin at him. “Shut up.”

Steve batted it back at him. “Well you’re not!”

“Neither are you, pretty boy.”

Billy half wanted to shove him off of his chair, half wanted to kiss the indignant look right off his face. But he didn’t have the chance to do either, because that was when Max came over and demanded he drive her home. The boys all looked pissy about it, and it took him a second to realise why. They never wanted to leave the arcade a second earlier than they had to. If he had to take a guess, it would be that Max was worried about him getting tired, and had strong-armed the rest of the munchkins into leaving on time. And as much fun as he was having with Harrington, for once in his life, he was happy to quit while he was ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels too happy too soon lol don’t worry I’ll make Bills cry again next chapter.


	8. Karen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I know a lot of y’all have strong feelings about the whole Karen thing. But if Billy’s not dead and comes back to Hawkins, he’s gunna have to see her at some point, y’know? So, this chapter is Karen and Billy and discussion about what went down in S3. If you don't want to hear about it, skip to the next chapter.

It was going to be dark soon. Odd spots of sun made it through the bruise-yellow sky, but it wouldn’t be long before the clouds closed up and darkened into evening. Felt like there was rain coming in on the air too, close and heavy. Karen switched on the kitchen light and eyed the half bottle of red on the counter. Ted would be going straight to his monthly cards night with his colleagues right after work, so she didn’t have to worry about cooking for him. Mike would no doubt be full and grumpy from the snacks he’d spent all day eating with his friends while they played their little game in the basement, so getting him to eat proper food in an hour or so would probably be a challenge. Nancy would most likely go back to the Byers’ for dinner when Jonathan came to pick up Will. So just her and Holly. She looked to where her youngest daughter was colouring at the kitchen table, swinging her feet and lightly frowning in concentration. Maybe there was something in the freezer she could heat up. They could have ice cream after, maybe drive over to the video store for Holly to pick out a movie. Although she still found it a little strange talking with Steve, despite him and Nancy breaking up so long ago now. And Jonathan was nice enough of course, but she’d really felt like she could see her daughter’s future with that boy. It was probably time to let go of that, though. She’d seen Nancy grow up so much over the summer, with her job at the paper, and not taking no for an answer from those assholes working above her. Looking after her brother and his friends the night of that freak fire at the mall. She hadn’t given her eldest daughter enough credit until recently, but she could honestly say she was proud of her, knew she knew what she was doing. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes as her mother.

A knock at the door startled her out of her daze, and she pushed half-formed dinner plans out of her head as she went to open it. It was Billy. She pulled on a smile as quickly as she could manage at his sudden, unexpected presence at her door, hoped it looked kind rather than awkward or sad. After everything, she still couldn’t claim to know him well, really, but she knew enough to presume he wouldn’t want her pity. She could have sworn he flinched at the sight of her, almost afraid for a second, before he pulled himself together too. 

“I’m um, here for Max,” he said through a thin smile, watching her carefully from under his hood. He looked small, diminished, and terribly young, standing under her porchlight. “Her mom wants us home for dinner tonight.”

Karen felt her jaw work as she tried to pick the right thing to say out of the mess in her head. “Sure,” she said, smile pulling tight, “they’re almost done. Come in and wait?” She’d wanted to clear the air with him for months, but the chance had never come along. Since he’d been in hospital and the pool closed there was no way she could get him alone. And _God_ that sounded like… she cringed away from the residual embarrassment even thinking about it left her with.

“You know what that’s okay, I really don’t wanna – “

“Please?” She cut through his scramble to avoid talking to her, suddenly desperate to speak to him now the opportunity had presented itself. “I just want to talk. That’s all.” 

He looked cornered, tense and strung tight like a hunted rabbit, but relented. “Alright.”

She considered offering him something to eat as he stepped gingerly into the kitchen. He looked so much thinner than he used to, and she felt the unexpected motherly urge to feed him up. It was odd to see him moving so carefully too, fragmented, none of the solid swagger he’d had about him in the summer. She couldn’t help but feel a little protective you see, even after the mess they’d made, or very nearly made, of things. After all, she’d spoken to him almost every day for a while, _enjoyed_ speaking to him. And after what the boy had been through at Starcourt… She thanked God every day that Mike and Nancy had come out of the fire apparently caused by sloppy wiring and sheer bad luck relatively unharmed, but it still made her ache to think of how badly poor Billy had been hurt helping to keep them all safe. She’d had to read about it in the papers. Hear about his heroism and his long stay in hospital through second-hand gossip from the kids and, in passing, their moms. She hadn’t been brave enough to press Mike for any details, get him to ask Maxine how her brother was doing too often, because it would’ve seemed odd for her to care so much.

“How are you getting along?” she asked, the easiest place to start. “You’re looking well. The papers said…” she trailed off. She could see some of the scars in the dim light of the kitchen, silvery pink up his neck, pitted over his clenched hands. She tried not to look.

“A lot better, thank you,” he said, polite and distant, slipped his hands into his pockets and maintained the distance the kitchen counter put between them.

“Good,” she nodded, turned to busy herself with wiping down already dry dishes.

Their strange game that had almost crossed a line felt even more juvenile, stupid, than it had in the heat of summer. Because it _had_ been a game. She never would have followed through, she knew that now; it had only ever been a question of when she would have finally backed down. If not for the moment she’d caught sight of Ted and Holly asleep in front of the TV making her waver, it might have when she’d gotten in the car, or maybe outside the motel. Just before she knocked on the door. Perhaps, in another universe, she’d never said yes at all, put a stop to it before their playing had gone so far. But she _had_ said yes, and she had to own up to it. She still didn’t know if Billy had even gone to the motel himself that night – he’d never confirmed it when they’d spoken briefly in the supply closest at the pool, just told her to stay away. And rightly so. _Dammit. _

“I’m so sorry,” she said, eyes feeling hot and close to tears.

“Um. It’s okay,” came his voice, gruff and quiet, from behind her. “Like I said, feeling a lot better now, Mrs Wheeler.”

Her voice faltered. “Not about that.”

She doubted he’d ever intended to follow through either. Every exchange between them had been play acting, like when Holly played house with her little friends, food made of plastic and teapots full of pretend tea. This was possibly the closest thing to a real conversation they’d ever had, and it had taken her almost making a massive mistake and Billy almost dying for it to happen. But she’d enjoyed the attention, suspected he had too. And that should have been all there ever was to it.

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry, Billy,” she said again, found the nerve to turn and look at him. “For what I encouraged.”

“It’s okay you really don’t have to – “ he looked desperate to escape, and she couldn’t blame him. But it would eat her up if she didn’t say it.

“I know, I’ll only be a moment,” she managed to sound steady, even if she didn’t feel it.

“Right,” his eyes darted regretfully to the door, “okay.”

“I’m ashamed of myself,” she set down the last dish she’d been pretending to dry, “for acting like I did.”

She looked up to see him watching her, looking less terrified now, and more just sad, and still uncomfortable as hell. 

“You’re just a kid, and I – “ she bit her lip against a fresh rush of regret, swallowed it down. “I hadn’t meant to let things go so far. I was taking advantage of you.”

“No Mrs Wheeler, I wanted you to – “

“No Billy, I won’t hear it. I shouldn’t have encouraged you. And after everything else you’ve had to go through…” she paused. “I just hope you can forgive me. And that we can put it behind us.”

“…I guess.” He seemed to deflate a little, tension dropped out of his shoulders. He looked so _tired._

“Good.” It didn’t make all of her bad feeling about it dissolve away immediately, of course not, but it was a start.

Now he looked teary too, and she wished she could have hugged him, gently, cradled his head like she would Nancy until the sadness was all chased away. But all things considered, that hardly would have been appropriate.

“Um, thanks… then,” he said, gruff and still close to tears and clearly more than embarrassed by her little speech, but he sounded sincere enough. No more veneer. “Thanks, for sayin’ all of that.”

She nodded, wrung out.

“I’ll wait for Maxine in the car,” he said, and this time she let him go.

She purposely waited another ten minutes before going to tell Max her brother was there to pick her up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure I succeeded in what I wanted to do with this chapter, but it’s done. Please do not comment just to tell me you hate Karen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft boys to the max.

It wasn’t a bad day in the sense that his other bad days were. He hadn’t been seeing shadows in the corners, watched Max or Harrington or Neil die in his dreams, or felt the prickling phantom sensation under his skin like all of his scars were being carved afresh every time he breathed. Just a regular bad night’s sleep. A turn into more wintery weather had left him particularly cold and achy under the covers, made him feel tired and peaky and irritable the next day. He’d pushed himself too hard at Jack’s later that afternoon as a result, had tried to lift more than he should have and it left him sore and breathless. And then he’d had to pick up Max from the Wheelers’. He’d naively thought he might have been alright, but it turned out the mere sight of Karen Wheeler set him on edge for a whole bunch of reasons, some more trivial than others. He’d been on his way to meet her at the motel when _that thing_ had gotten him. Not that it made it her fault, of course not, but it left It and her irrevocably linked in his head, no matter much he told himself he was being crazy. He could still see her face in the storage closet at the pool, when the thing in his mind had wanted him to smash her head into the shelves. He knew he’d flinched when he’d seen her, hadn’t been able to keep the residual fear through association off of his face. She seen it too. And then she’d topped it all off by having the balls to tell him she was sorry. None of the shit she’d wanted to apologise for really even mattered to him anymore, but the fact that she’d wanted to say it did. He wasn’t used to people telling him they were sorry and meaning it.

He dropped Max back home with minimal complaint from her. She could read him like a damn book these days, could probably tell just by looking at him that now wasn’t the time to kick up a stink about having to be home for dinner. Could see his watery eyes and the way he kept the little piece of rose quartz clenched in his fist as he drove. Since they’d gotten back in such good time, there was still over half an hour until Susan would want them at the table, so he took off again as soon as Max had squeezed his arm and sloped reluctantly inside the house, only to almost drive right into Harrington at the end of the street. Steve jumped out of the car and was knocking on the driver side window before Billy could take a second to pull himself together.

“Hey man,” he said, all smiles as Billy rolled down the window, “the kids told me you guys had to be home for dinner, but I just dropped Dustin back to his mom’s so I was kinda close by, and wondered if – “ he must have looked at Billy properly then, seen the rogue tear on his cheek and the discomfort on his face. “Shit, are you okay?”

He laughed at that, a sad little bark, and resigned himself to letting Harrington see him so fucking vulnerable. He’d seen him just about every other way by now, so what point was there in fighting it anymore. He spared a thought for Billy Before, the one who’d rather punch Harrington on the nose than let him see anything about him at all. Billy Now was too tired for that. “No Harrington, no I’m not.”

“Oh.” He bit his lip, might have been cute if Billy wasn’t in such a state. “What can I – “

“Get in the car,” Billy interrupted, voice scratchy, not trusting himself to speak much without breaking apart. “There’s someplace I wanna go.”

By the time Billy’d driven them to the horses, Steve had stopped trying to pry what was wrong out of him. He’d spent most of the drive just watching Billy, his undivided attention equal parts off-putting and comforting. He sat with one long leg crossed over the other, tapped his knuckles on the inside of the door in the rhythm of a song Billy didn’t know. When Billy pulled the car up at the edge of the field, he climbed out to go and lean on the fence, trusting Steve would follow. He picked at a splinter in the wood, winced when he misjudged and it jabbed into his thumb. It began to rain, light and barely noticeable to begin with, sky growing darker by the minute. A shiver ran along Billy’s back, and he shifted minutely closer to where Harrington’s elbow rested next to his on the wooden fence rail. Billy watched the horses amble around in the dusk, all gentle snorting and tearing softly at the grass. He felt himself ease up a little, let a long breath rush out between his lips. Harrington must have taken it as permission to end his silence.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Billy said, ducked to rest his forehead on his folded arms. Whether or not he wanted to say anything about it, once his eyes were closed and he couldn’t see Harrington watching him anymore, the words fell out anyway. “It was seeing Mrs Wheeler. Fucked me up.”

“Nancy’s mom?” Billy could almost picture the little crease of confusion on Steve’s forehead. The same look he used to get in English class, or when he’d caught Billy watching him by the lockers and couldn’t figure out if it was good or bad. “Why?”

Billy sighed. “We had… somethin’.”

“_Something?”_ Steve said, sounded alarmed and still more than a little confused. “What kind of _something,_ Billy?”

“In the summer,” he lifted his head to watch the horses again, little more than dark shapes across the field, kept his eyes resolutely turned away from Steve, “she used to come to the pool a lot. I caught her lookin’, flirted with her a little. She flirted back.”

“…Okay.”

“It wasn’t anything really, I –“ he was really done talking about it, hadn’t set out to explain himself to Harrington when none of it even mattered anymore. “I was never gunna to do anything about it, and she wasn’t either. It was kinda just a game for both us, y’know? I liked the attention.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, that I can believe.”

“I asked her to meet me at the motel off the highway. Wanted to watch her try and squirm her way out of it, thought it might be funny,” he shook his head. “But she fuckin’ said _yes.”_

He wondered for the thousandth time what might have happened if she’d turned him down. Would he have been hurling fireworks with Harrington and Buckley and watching some other schmuck get obliterated by that monster? Or would he have been blissfully unaware of the whole thing, believing the shitty cover up story about faulty wiring like the rest of the town? Maybe they’d have all ended up dead, if he hadn’t been there to throw himself into the angry monster’s jaws.

“And you know me, Harrington,” he said, aiming for funny and falling flat, “I sure as shit wasn’t going to back down either. So I drove out of town, and… something hit my car. You know the rest. I saw her at the pool the next day and I almost… Seein’ her again brought everything back. And it fucks me up.” He heard the crack in his voice as he finished, the quiet of the trees around them feeling heavy, the rainclouds thick and tangible, packed close and pressing down on them. 

“Shit.”

Billy blinked, watched Max-the-horse nip at spotted Lars for some horsey offence he must have committed. “That all you’ve got to say?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” He was pretty sure Steve didn’t know what to make of it. But it was too late, Billy’d said his piece, and felt a little lighter for it no matter what Steve might’ve thought. The ball was outta his court.

“Why’d you bring me here?”

Billy was thrown by the fact that Steve apparently didn’t want to pry any further into that whole pile of shit he’d just fessed up to, the bit about his ex-girlfriend’s mom in particular, but he wasn’t about to argue with the change of subject. “Eh, I was comin’ here anyway. Brought you along for the ride.”

“You’ve come here before?” Steve said, tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah. It helps me… y’know,” he rubbed his nose on his sleeve, tried to think less about how cute it was that Steve cocked his head like that when he asked a question, and more about what Steve had actually asked him, “get my head on straight. Think clearly, or whatever. Horses can’t talk shit about you.”

Steve hummed. “I guess you’re right.”

Billy didn’t have anything else to say after that. He’d spilled enough of himself to Harrington for now, could already feel himself retreating, curling inward, wishing he hadn’t showed so much of his hand. When Harrington had almost driven into him when he was turning out of Cherry Road, Billy had thought he didn’t care if Steve saw him softened and on the edge of falling apart, the worst of him all laid out for the other boy to pick through at his leisure. Now he’d calmed down a little, he wished he could take some of it back. Not because Billy didn’t trust him with it, he just wasn’t sure if Steve _wanted_ it. Why would he want any of Billy’s baggage when he was probably already struggling with his own? He snuck a look at him. Steve’s eyes were on the horses too, but Billy didn’t think he was really paying them much attention. _God,_ he wanted a smoke. His stash of candy was back in the glovebox.

“I’m thinking of being a cop,” Harrington said out of nowhere.

It caught Billy off guard, enough so to make him stop clinging to the fence quite so hard and actually turn to face him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, looked down to give Billy a self-deprecating little smile. Something in Billy’s chest tugged. “Will suggested it first. I thought he was just kidding, y’know? But… I don’t know,” he shrugged, suddenly unsure of himself, like Billy might laugh at him for it, “it seems less funny now. Might be something I’m actually good at.”

“Everyone’s got something, Harrington,” he said, chewed on his thumbnail a little. “Even you.”

“Yeah, laugh it up,” he said, but his smile twitched into something a little happier. “Robin said she’ll help me look into it, if I’m serious.”

“That’s cool. Good for you.” He meant it. Envied Harrington that growing sense of purpose.

“Thanks.”

“You uh, not hanging with Robin tonight?” Billy didn’t know why he said it. It only twisted the knife.

“Nah, she’s studying for a test. Said I’m actually more help when I’m not there, so,” he trailed off. “You seem to get on with her pretty good.”

Billy shrugged. “She’s cool. What makes you say that?”

“I saw you uh, talking to her at the video store a couple times,” he said. “And you waved to her when we took the kids to the arcade.”

He had – the night he and Steve had gone for pizza while the brats were playing whatever shitty nerd game they were currently obsessed with, he’d caught sight of her through the window of Family Video next door, thrown a lazy wave at her in response to her salute. He hadn’t known Steve had noticed. “You spyin’ on me Harrington? Don’t worry, I’m not out to steal your girl.”

“Not my girl, I already told you that.”

“Yeah well,” he hadn’t quite let himself believe it. Still didn’t. “Didn’t believe you.”

“Nobody does,” Steve said with an annoyed little huff like it was old news, pulled his jacket a bit tighter around himself. “She’s just a friend, man. Honestly. Best friend, actually.”

“So I’ve got the green light, huh?” he raised his eyebrows, just to get a laugh. It worked.

“Hey, you’re welcome to try man. Pretty sure you’re not her type though.”

“Honestly Stevie, I’m not sure she’s mine either,” he said, feeling a little too light now, with Steve laughing at his elbow, to keep himself in check. Harrington had drawn him back out again, despite his best intentions. “I like talking to her though.”

“Yeah?”

“She didn’t know about any of this crap until July either.” The rest of them had more history, with their weird little thrown together saving-the-world club. And boy, hadn’t that been a fucking trip to hear about. “Me and her are on the same level.” Providing a host body to a mind-possessing monster aside. Mostly, she just seemed like she didn’t put up with any crap. He could appreciate that.

“I guess so.”

He didn’t know what made him say it. Perhaps the various little stresses of the day built up so high and heavy on his shoulders that he didn’t care; after his shitty night’s sleep and his sore chest and back and aching lungs, the sad look Karen Wheeler had given him from across her kitchen counter. All of it filling him up until there wasn’t room for anything else. Perhaps he’d just broken the seal, couldn’t stop himself blabbing everything out. Perhaps all the psycho-crap Doctor Owens had piled on him during his stay in the hospital was finally leaving its mark, and he was talking through his shit with Harrington like a normal person might. He didn’t really like the sound of that last option, but he came off in that one than the other two. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Why wouldn’t you talk to me in the video store?”

He felt Steve go still next to him. No more tapping on the fence post or shifting his weight. “What?”

“When I first came in with Max,” he said. “You hid.”

“Shit.” Billy chanced another look at him. He looked uncomfortable as hell. “Yeah.”

Billy hadn’t expected him to fold so easy. A part of him still expected him to puff up, get all King Steve, that shadow of a boy Billy’d never even met, not really. Or something more like the boy in the shitty sailor suit who’d thrown fireworks at a monster and crashed a car into Billy’s Camaro to save his friends. Taken a smashed plate to the head from him to save those same friends the year before. Billy’d certainly tossed a lot of shit Harrington’s way since he’d come to Hawkins, and it would have been perfectly understandable for him to be angry with him for that. But he wasn’t, so Billy kept pushing. He felt small and quiet, all the fight gone out of him, and it was easier to face if Steve felt small and quiet too. “Why?”

“Because I watched you die,” Steve’s voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, rubbed at his nose. “I saw that monster punch right through your chest, man. Saw your little sister crying over you.”

“So did everyone else,” Billy said, “and they didn’t clam up like you did.” He hadn’t meant it to sound accusatory. He hoped it hadn’t. Harrington didn’t look mad, anyway.

“No, I guess not,” Steve said, looked up to let the rain fall on his face, wrinkled his nose and blinked it out of his eyes. “It’s hard to explain. You just… I always had this set picture of you in my head, y’know? And when I saw you in the video store, the Billy in front of me and the Billy in my head didn’t match up anymore.”

If that wasn’t such a blow to Billy’s already fucked self-esteem, he might have been a little more thrilled about the fact that Harrington had apparently thought about him at all. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean – ” Steve huffed, gripped onto the rail to lean back, tipped his head back to the darkening sky again while he thought. “Told ya it was hard to explain. I looked at you, and all I could see was you stepping in front of that thing for El. Your face all blue in the mall lights. The noise you made when it hit...”

“Oh.” Billy could remember it, for the most part. El had pushed the creature right out of his head with the happy memories of his mom he’d clung onto since she’d left, left his mind clearer than it had been for days without the weight of it. But everything had been washed over with a haze of pain and sadness and anger and desperation, and well… he’d blacked out, and it had been over pretty quick for him. Watching it all unfold like Harrington had probably hadn’t been pretty.

“Yeah. But then Robin made you laugh. And it wasn’t like, happy, but it made you… I don’t know, spark up a little. Like the old bad boy Billy Hargrove was still in there somewhere. And he was kind of a dick, sure, but I still didn’t want him gone.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Harrington,” Billy said dryly.

“Shut up, I’m trying to be honest, dude,” Steve said through a little laugh caught in the back of his throat.

“Then be honest.”

“Look, I,” Steve shrugged. “I just didn’t know what to say. Like you said – clammed up. We didn’t exactly have a good point I could go back to and pick up from, dick.”

“Wow, don’t pull your punches or nothin’,” he said.

“Hey, you asked me to tell you the truth!” Steve raised his hands, palms out, in defence. “Besides, everyone in the world I give two shits about was in that building. And they all would’ve been toast if you hadn’t stepped in, saved ‘em all. It’s kind of hard to still think of you as a total asshole when you pull shit like that, man. Kind of emotional whiplash, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“But I thought about how shitty I’d feel if you – if you hadn’t made it,” he took a deep breath. “So I kinda made a deal with myself. That I’d try a little harder. To maybe know you a little better,” he shrugged. “And that was that.”

Billy _had _asked him to be honest. Should have known better. He’d pushed Harrington – like he always had, couldn’t help himself – and he’d told him the truth. And it was just too fucking much. His eyes felt hot again, and _damn,_ how many times was he going to cry in front of Harrington in the space of a single hour? “I don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t deserve what?”

“Any of it.” Any of the _goodness_ they’d all been pouring out, from Harrington, Max, Susan, the grudging acceptance of the other kids. “Not just because of what I did while it was… in me, or whatever. But before that too, I – “

“Well tough guy,” Steve interrupted before Billy could get any real good momentum going, “you don’t get a say in it.”

Before Billy knew what was happening, Steve had slipped an arm under his, the other around his shoulders, and scooped him into a hug. He blinked in surprise, breathed in the clean sweat, fading laundry detergent and hairspray smell from Steve’s collar. When he’d recovered from the giddy shock of it, he lifted his hand to curl tight into the back of Steve’s jacket, allowed himself the smallest of moments to not think. Rubbed his cheek, the smallest back and forth, on Steve’s shoulder, and listened to the horses shift about in the grass.

“Max says I should go talk to El,” he admitted miserably into Steve’s neck. “Thinks it might help with… y’know. Everything.”

“She’s probably right,” Steve said, gently uncurled himself away from Billy. He let him go. “She’s a smart kid. But no one’s gunna make you. You know that, right?” He was watching him, smallest little smile on his mouth, rain-damp hair sticking to his forehead.

Billy found his voice. “Okay.”

“Cool,” Steve smiled wider, a flash of teeth in the dark, put his hand on Billy’s shoulder to steer him back to the car. “Now are you done being a total drama queen and standing around in the rain, because I’m fucking soaked here, man.”

Billy let himself be steered, leant into Steve’s side a little more than was necessary. “Shove it, Harrington.”


	10. Robin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway there, let's celebrate with some Robin.

Robin hadn’t had a Saturday afternoon off in _weeks,_ in so long that it almost felt weird to be spending time with someone other than Steve outside of school. After everything, he’d somehow ended up her best friend. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really, not after the things he and the Henderson kid had inadvertently dragged her into. Well, she’d been bored enough, cocky enough, to let herself be dragged, really, so… she couldn’t blame them for that. It was like the time she and Alison Rhodes had wandered off and gotten left behind on a hike during summer camp – it was four hours later and almost dark by the time a counsellor found them. They’d been pen pals ever since, still were. Shared trauma. To a slightly different degree than her and Harrington, but still. He was the only person she could talk to about the reason for a bad night’s sleep, or why she got so twitchy over the sound of car backfire. And other than his ex-girlfriend – perhaps less of a priss than she’d originally thought – and Byers, Steve didn’t really have anyone the same kinda age to talk to about it either. But for now, just enjoying the bright fall sunshine on her face, eyes closed, listening to her band friends chatter and bitch at each other, was… nice.

“You still with us, Bucko?”

She looked up from where she was sprawled on a park bench, squinting in the sudden light, to where Marsha and Abby were sitting on the swings, passing a smoke back and forth and scuffing the toes of their boots through the leaves on the ground. “Sure.”

“You thinkin’ about someone special?” Abby teased, newly acquired lip piercing flashing as she grinned. Her mom only let her wear it on the weekends.

“Yeah,” Marsha added, put on her best impression of Robin’s dad, “has that nice Harrington boy asked you out yet?”

“Jesus, _no,”_ Robin said, and hurled her empty gum wrapper at them for good measure. “It’s not like that. Now get to the point and tells us whether you got to third with Kevin or not, bitch.”

“What the fuck!?”

“Well she has a point, you know you haven’t actually answered yet – “

She settled back down on the bench with a smile, tucked her cold fingers inside her jacket sleeves, and listened to the other two scuffle. She was going to make the most of every damn moment before she had to go in for the evening shift. For now, it was Steve and Keith at the helm. Which never failed to be hilarious. She still couldn’t believe it, some days, that Keith had actually _fallen_ for her spiel about Steve. Craziest thing was, it had actually turned out to be sort of true? Like, Steve’s being involved with the whole Starcourt fiasco had somehow made him kind of cool again. Those assholes who’d made her sign a bunch of non-disclosure forms had tried to keep them all out of the media as much as possible, but the odd rumour still managed to leak through, along with blurry snaps of the chaotic aftermath. Not good enough quality to make out their faces, but along with the other whispers of their involvement, it was enough for people to guess. Hargrove got the most mentions, and the Chief had had to do a few interviews, since he was… well, the Chief. But, gradually, girls really had started coming in just to talk to Steve. Which was good, she supposed, because they saved the goddamn world and one of them should be getting some action at least. And sadly, despite him being a total doofus, out of the two of them it was statistically more likely to be him. To her mild surprise, he actually seemed to be a hell of a lot smoother with them than he ever was at Scoops, a little bit of the old Steve-the-hair-Harrington spirit. And she had a theory about that, too. He’d stopped trying so hard. Which meant he didn’t care as much. Which could just mean he’d realised having a girl on his arm wasn’t the most important thing in the world anymore. But no, she didn’t think that was it. It was early stages, only a theory, but she had a feeling there was someone else he was interested in, only he hadn’t quite realised it yet.

“Hey Robin?”

“Yeah?” She looked up to see Abby eying her expectantly from under her thick hair.

“It’s your turn,” Marsha held out a few scrunched up bills, “I went last time.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, head rushing a little as she sat up. “Fine,” she swiped the money, “what do you guys want?”

It was only a few minutes’ walk from the park to the store, for a couple cans of Coke and a box of Nerds for Abby and Marsha, maybe some Doritos as a present to herself for making it through the week. Still had an extra credit Lit essay to finish, but other than that… She considered getting something for Steve, then remembered he was loaded and could buy his own damn candy, and the two of them would probably spend the evening sharing something swiped from the counter at Family Video anyway.

She was just leaving the store, about to pop open her Coke and pretending the girl behind the counter had smiled at her for reasons beyond chipper customer service – she wasn’t delusional, but she could dream, okay – when she saw Billy Hargrove. He was just standing on the sidewalk, looking a little spacey, clinging onto a parking meter like he needed its support to stay on his feet. Crap. She slipped the Coke can back into the bag and crossed the street.

“Hey Hargrove.”

He turned his head to look at her, but didn’t speak. Just blinked slowly, frowning a little, like he’d just woken up.

“You okay there, buddy?” she said, now actually a little concerned, like for real. She knew he had bad days, from the little things that Max or Lucas whispered to Steve over the counter when he rang them up, or when she’d seen him drive around town looking a little grey and wild-eyed. From the glassiness of his smile the few times they’d spoken. But that by itself didn’t explain what the hell he was doing out in the middle of town all by himself when he looked one wrong breath away from falling apart. “You look a little woozy.”

He seemed to find his voice then, fluttered a strained smile her way, and nodded. “Yeah Buckley, I’m just peachy.”

Relieved he was with it enough to talk but still not convinced, her hand hovered awkwardly over his arm. “You sure?”

He nodded, let go of the meter to rub at his temple. “But I should probably get going. Shit to do, y’know.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to covertly look up and down the street for his car, “you drive here?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah, nope,” she said cheerfully, crossed her arms, “not on my watch, Hargrove.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“You’re in no state to drive, my man.”

His frown deepened, and he actually started to look a bit pissed, more like the Hargrove of old. “I’m fine.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes and changed tac, “then just do me a favour and sit with me a minute? I wanna ask you about something.”

“Fine,” he sighed, like he was doing her a massive favour, and yanked his hood back up over his hair, “just a minute.”

“Great.” She gently steered him back across the street and down the side of the store, tucked away out of sight from the road. She slid down the brick wall and sat with her legs stretched out in front of her, held out one of the cans. “You gonna sit or what?”

“No.”

“Whatever, just do me a fucking favour and drink the damn Coke,” she waved it at him. She wasn’t really sure if it would help or not, but a little sugar kick and something to distract him couldn’t hurt.

“Jesus,” he muttered and scowled at her. He did take the can, but didn’t sit down, just propped himself up against the opposite wall and gave her dark looks while he sipped. Eh, she’d take it.

She didn’t know much about him, in the grand scheme of things. She knew more about him than most of the town did though, maybe. That he’d been forced to hurt a few, but had wilfully stepped up to save all the rest of them. That he’d had a monster living in his head and nobody noticed. That the scars he carefully hid under uncharacteristic layers of jackets were not from a goddamn electrical fire. They weren’t really things _about_ him though, so much as things that had happened _to_ him. Any other fragments were gathered up from the handful of times he’d come to the video store, the even fewer times he’d come to Scoops to pester them. Or pester Steve, really. Glimpses of him at school, and odd things she heard from the kids, the occasional time she’d seen them while hanging at Steve’s. And from Steve himself, when he was feeling guilty and hoped venting to her would help.

“So, what brings you here on this fine Saturday afternoon, Malibu?” she asked, peered inside her bag and wondered how mad Abby would be if she opened the Nerds.

“None of your business,” Hargrove said, sharp but tired. He seemed to have forgotten she’d said she wanted to ask him something.

“Geez, sorry for asking. Nerd?” she shook the box at him.

“What?” he blinked at her. “No. I just… my car’s been playin’ up, wouldn’t start. But I needed to get out, so,” he shrugged. “Walked.”

“Wait,” she frowned, “I thought you said you drove here.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t.”

“Right.” He looked better already, eyes a little brighter, less dazed, less lost. She just hoped she could keep him chatting until she was sure he was firmly back on this planet.

“Walked a little too far I guess.” He rubbed absently at his chest, “’s colder than I thought. Was about to go into the store when I just…”

“I get it,” she said quietly,

“Thanks,” he said, gruff. “For stopping.”

“That’s okay.”

She watched as he finished off the can, tapped at it lightly with a blunt fingernail. He was somewhat of a reformed asshole, a little like Steve, and believe it or not, she liked him too. He gave her a small smile as he tossed the empty can in a dumpster, and she guessed it might be mutual. Not the weirdest thing to happen to her this year, but close. 

“Well, thanks again for that Buckley,” he said, “see you around, I guess.”

“No problem. Just... get home safe?"

He snorted, tossed his head. "Sure, _mom."_

"I mean it! Hey,” she called out, just before he stepped back onto the street, “when I can’t sleep, I put on a movie.”

“Good for you?”

She sighed. “I’m just saying, next time you have a bad night, it might help. Come rent something if you want. Me and the dingus are in this evening. Maybe even if you don’t wanna rent anything, you could just… come say hi,” she bit her lip. “I know you don’t have anything better to do.”

He mumbled something about Robin knowing too much for her own fucking good, and then he was gone.

She wasn’t interfering, honest. It was just… she was so sure there was something there. Steve had told her about running into Hargrove at the laundromat, that Hargrove had kept throwing him cheesy lines and pulled a quarter out from behind his ear. Fucking, _honestly_. So transparent. He’d asked her if she thought asking Hargrove to get pizza with him would be weird. And then she’d seen them later that evening, Hargrove had thrown her a wave as he and Steve went into the arcade to get said pizza and wait for the kids. Saw them laughing and Steve flicking a slice of pepperoni at Hargrove through the window when her shift was over. There had to be something there. And if she was wrong, well, one more friend wouldn’t hurt either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sounds like it was sponsored by Coke.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially over halfway my dudes. Have some more absolute fucking mush feat. Will Byers.

“You can ask,” Billy said, held the piece of rose quartz up to the thin, wintery sunlight, hard between his forefinger and thumb, “I know you want to.” Little Byers had been watching him play with the small pink rock for the last ten minutes, but he hadn’t asked what his deal was. Billy got the impression he was used to keeping quiet.

“I think I know,” he said softly, frowning slightly as he watched Billy twist the stone around between his fingers.

The two of them were sitting on the Byers’ front porch. A house which just as well have had Hopper written on the mailbox as well as Byers, since the Chief and Eleven seemed to spend almost as much time there as they did in the Chief’s old trailer, after what had happened to his cabin. Yeah. One of the many things Billy still felt a nasty, guilty twitch over when he thought about it too hard. He’d come to pick up Max, and found Little Byers sitting on the porch by himself in the chilly fall sunshine. The rest of the kids were still inside; he could hear them laughing and hollering at each other as soon as he’d stepped out of his car. He’d had every intention of today being the day he talked to El, about how sorry he was for fucking everything up, about what she’d seen in his head, and what she’d done to push that thing out of him, but he chickened out at the last second, and sat down with Will to wait instead. From the way he was sitting out on the porch all alone, Billy guessed he needed time to himself to chill a little sometimes too. He got that.

“Max told me to think of it like an anchor,” he coughed and shrugged his jacket a little closer around himself, eyed the ugly old floral curtains at the kitchen window. It was fucking freezing, but he really didn’t feel up to the brats’ poor volume control, their failed attempts at watching him discreetly, if he went inside. He slipped the quartz back into his pocket. “Something to hold on to if I’m feelin’ like I might get washed away.”

Instead of looking surprised, Will just nodded and put his gloved hands on his knees. “I’ve got one too.”

“Yeah?” Billy carefully looked uninterested, thought it might encourage him to talk a little more if Billy wasn’t staring him down. Instead, he scratched at the ears of the Byers’ newly acquired sleepy little rescue dog. Its eyes were half closed, all dozy, and he’d crawled into Billy’s lap for a cuddle the second he’d sat down on the porch. Obviously he was a good judge of character. The little guy only had three legs, and the kids had collectively helped Will decide on the name Falkor. Nerds.

“Uh huh. It’s um, a little model of a wizard,” Will said, pink in the face, looking down at the worn wood of the porch rather than at Billy, “Mike got him for me ages ago. I dig my thumb into the point of his hat, and it reminds me that I’m gonna be okay.”

“Cool.” He forgot sometimes, how much this kid had been through. The only one who’d been through anywhere near the same things he had. And he still hadn’t quite figured out how to talk to him about it. Until he did, maybe just both of them knowing they weren’t the only one might do the trick.

There was a large, slightly odd shaped pumpkin sitting on the porch, waiting to be carved or made into pie or both. It was almost Halloween. They’d been in Hawkins just over a year. And what a fucking year_, Christ._ The excitement for the holiday around town put Billy on edge. Too much shouting and screaming and shitty pranks fuelled by too much candy, and the dark empty eyeholes in the shitty plastic masks in the stores were enough to have him flinching. What a fuckin’ pussy. He’d already had to be escorted across the street by Buckley last week when he’d taken an ill-advised walk into town after the Camaro wouldn’t start. Before he’d even headed off he’d been feeling peaky, and the cold air in his fucked up chest had left him light headed and disorientated. He didn’t need to make any more of an ass of himself for a while, if he could help it.

“You okay?” Will’s cautious question brought him back out of his self-deprecating.

“Huh?”

“You were frowning.”

“I just,” Billy said gruffly, directed all his attention back to the scruffy little white dog in his lap. Billy Before would have been pissed about the amount of animal hair on his jeans these days. “Not really lookin’ forward to Halloween.”

Will nodded. “It used to be my favourite. Well, after Christmas maybe. But after last year,” he said, a little wobbly, and Billy wanted to tell him it was okay, he didn’t have to drag all of it out again on his account, “it just makes me think of _him._ It was around then I started seeing him. Started getting flashes of the Upside Down.” He looked up, managed a shaky smile, “don’t worry. It makes me feel jumpy too.”

“Yeah,” he said, part astounded and part pissed the kid could read him so well. “Thanks.”

“And after how much we argued over playing Dungeons and Dragons in the summer?” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I think I’m maybe too old for trick or treating and all that stuff anyway.”

“Nah,” Billy said, heart fucking aching for this poor kid who the universe wouldn’t give a goddamn break, “I don’t think you’re too old. You do what you wanna do, little Byers, and fuck everyone else.”

He smiled, a bit more solidly, and Billy guessed now was the time to get his head out of his ass and say thanks.

_“I don’t even know why we’re here."_

_“Because he saved us, that’s why.”_

_“Yeah, but couldn’t we have just sent flowers or something?”_

_“Don’t be an asshole.”_

_“Now you’re siding with him?”_

_“Yeah, what are you gunna – “_

_“Hey assholes, I can hear you!”_

_“…shit.”_

Maxine had dragged her friends over to visit him a handful of times after he’d come home from the hospital, which had been about as tragic as it sounded. They’d seemed to have some sort of notion that he’d done something good, which… yeah, no matter how many times Dr Owens had told him otherwise, how many times Max told him he’d saved her best friend, that didn’t change the fact that it was his fault any of it had happened in the first place. It had been excruciating, to start with. Nobody but Max seemed to want to be there, and Billy actively told them, more than once, that it would be just peachy if they could all please fuck off. But then they’d caught sight of Billy’s bookshelf – or rather, that curly haired little bastard that Harrington carted around everywhere started pawing through it without asking – and realised they had more in common with him than they’d thought. Fuckin’ embarrassing.

_“You like The Hobbit?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“The Hobbit. It’s here on your bookshelf.”_

_“I guess.”_

_“It’s my favourite.”_

_“Good for you.”_

_“You… want me to read you some?”_

_“No.”_

_“…”_

_“Fine.”_

_“Cool. In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit."_

“Thanks for reading to me,” he managed, voice cracked and far away sounding, watched his scarred hands absently pet Falkor instead of looking Will in the eye. “When I was… bad.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Will said, drew his knees up to his chest against the cold. “It always made me feel better when I was sad, so…” he shrugged.

“It’s ah, one of my favourites,” he said. It used to make him feel bigger when he was feeling small. He couldn’t bring himself to say the copy Little Byers had read to him from had been his mom’s.

“Me too.”

“Yeah, you said. And don’t think I didn’t see you zero in on that shit, Byers,” he shook his head. “Like a fuckin’ hawk.”

Will laughed and woke up the dog, who proceeded to sneeze in Billy’s face and hopped off his lap to crawl over to Will instead, all wiggly and sleepily excited, to lick his nose.

“Traitor.” When Falkor had wandered off back indoors, probably to pester the kids for their snacks, Billy blurted something that he’d been wondering about ever since Harrington had mentioned it. “Harrington tells me you’re the one who told him he should be a cop.”

“Yeah,” he said, brightening up again with interest, “is he actually gonna do it?”

“I think he actually might, Little Byers.”

“No way!” Will positively beamed at him. “That’s great.”

“Why’d you tell him to give being a cop a shot, of all things?”

He shrugged. “I think he’d be good at it.”

Billy grunted. “That simple huh.”

“Well… yeah.”

“Fair enough,” he said, tucked his numb hands into his jacket now he didn’t have the dog to fuss over anymore. “And I think you might be right, kid. The asshole’s always tryin’ to help people.”

“So…” Will said, a little careful suddenly, like he half expected Billy to slip back into yelling and brawling and driving his little friends off the road, “you guys are friends now?”

Were they? They hung out a lot, and he liked it. But he’d spent so long telling himself he couldn’t have Steve like he wanted, that he never stopped to think about the part of him he already did have. “I think so. Funny, ain’t it.”

“Well, I guess,” Little Byers said, scrunched up his nose a bit. “No more funny than you sitting here talking to me.”

“Good point.”

“I think he’s happier too,” Will said, head tilted, still cautious.

“What d’you mean?” Billy said, unable to curb his curiosity when it came to Harrington. Didn’t even bother trying, anymore.

“I don’t know,” Will had come over all quiet again, scared back into his shell, like he was worried it wasn’t his place to say. “Since you guys started hanging out, he seems happier, that’s all. Less tired, and more… alive?”

“…Right.”

“I think maybe he wasn’t really hanging out with anyone, except his friend Robin. Maybe he needed another friend too, like you did. You look happier too.”

“Shit kid, you don’t fuck around do you.”

He shrugged, emboldened by the fact that Billy hadn’t flown off the handle at him.

Which he had no excuse to, because it was true. He _was_ happier. Although how much of that was Steve and how much of it was… everything else, it was hard to say. It wasn’t exactly a thing you could measure, y’know? But he couldn’t argue; he was happier. For years, he’d been angry, sad, an absolute fuckin’ wreck with no future. Or at least, not a good one. All it took was almost dying as the puppet of an interdimensional monster to get people to like him. To bother digging a little deeper, and for him to let them. _Shit._

“Could you um, do me a favour?” he said, suddenly feeling too seen and desperate for a moment alone, eyes fixed on the frosty, muddy expanse of the Byers’ yard, “and go tell Maxine I’m here? It’s fuckin’ cold.”

“Sure,” Will gave him a small smile, seemed to understand.

“Thanks kid.” His chest ached, and he wasn’t sure if it was the cold in his fucked up lungs or talking to this damn insightful kid.

“No problem. You’ll come over again soon, right?”

“Course I will. To see the dog, obviously,” he added, “not any of you losers.”

Will smiled again, and went inside. Billy fumbled the rose quartz out of his pocket again, and waited.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments on the last chapter were really sweet guys <3 As a thank you, here’s some accidental napping, and Billy crying again.

Never in a million goddamn years did Billy think that Steve Harrington would ever be in his bedroom. He guessed he technically _had_ been once before, the day he’d visited just after Billy’d come out of hospital, but he’d stayed all of two minutes before Billy’d chewed him out and he’d slunk guiltily away again. Eh, he was going to say it didn’t count, he’d only barely hovered in the doorway anyway. But this definitely did count; King Steve chattering away about the time he’d tried to teach Henderson to play baseball as he pawed through Billy’s belongings, long fingers running over the spines of Billy’s books, flicking through his box of tapes, the recently replenished hair products on his makeshift vanity.

“…can’t catch a ball to save his life man, I’m telling you. Like this kid might have helped save the world three times but _shit _is he bad at sports…”

It was a bunch of crap Billy couldn’t care less about really, but he’d listen all damn day if it was Steve doing the talking. He sat down heavily on his bed, tried to hold in a yawn as he leant back against the headboard and watched Steve study the bikini poster he still had stuck up on the back of his wardrobe door. Should probably take that shit down. He knew Max hated it and it embarrassed the hell out of Susan. Those were reasons to leave it up more than anything, but if he was being honest, Billy’d never liked it either. In an attempt to coax in the thin late morning sunshine, he’d taken down the blanket tacked up over his window, and the pale light splashed up the back of Steve’s neck and hands as he tapped on the wood.

He turned to throw Billy a lopsided smile. “You know Tommy used to have this poster too.”

“Mm.”

As much as he’d dreamed of having Steve Harrington in his room – granted, in his little fantasies he let Steve do an awful lot more than just rifle through his stuff – he doubted Billy Before ever would have let him in. All the problems that Neil would have presented aside, he would have been too afraid. Too afraid to make an idiot of himself by making it obvious how much he’d wanted Harrington’s approval, and too afraid to let anyone see more than the front he wanted them to see, never mind the boy he’d heard so much about. But now… it seemed like all the time Harrington could spare he happily spent with Billy. And Billy would take more, greedy for his attention, if he was brave enough to ask for it. And if Buckley wouldn’t kick his ass for claiming every second of her best friend’s time. The way things were with him and Steve right now, right that second, were about the best Billy could have realistically asked for. Steve Harrington was his friend, and since that was way more than he ever thought he’d get… eh, well, that was okay.

He yawned again, and this time wasn’t quick enough to hide it.

“Oh,” Steve blinked at him, paused where he’d been tossing a pair of Billy’s balled up socks from hand to hand. Billy blinked back. “You’re tired. Do you want me to…” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “scoot?”

“No,” Billy said quickly. Too quickly. Fuck it, he was tired. He’d stayed up late helping Max with her math homework, gotten up early to get to the grocery store before town was busy and full of people staring at him. And he’d been pushing himself too hard at Jack’s too, he knew that. But he just… really didn’t want Steve to go. “It’s fine. I’ll just,” he shifted a bit further down on the bed, “lie down. Keep talkin’, pretty boy.”

“Okay, uh,” Billy felt the bed dip as Steve sat down on top of the blankets, and he wished he felt slightly less woozy so he could be an appropriate level of thrilled about King Steve being on his bed, “what d’you want me to talk about?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, sleepy and a bit too honest, “just like listening to you talk shit.”

He hard Steve laugh and start talking again, but he couldn’t have said what about. He fell asleep quickly, all floaty and fuzzy with the soft murmur of Steve’s voice close by.

***

Stupid thing was, it wasn’t even one of the worst types of dream. Nobody died. There was no blood. No creature. He wasn’t holding down Max or El or his dad as it approached. He wasn’t coughing on the phantom feeling of thick black goop in his throat, or the memory of pain lancing through his chest as the monster took him down. None of the things that usually made him jolt awake screaming. It was the one where he looked into a mirror, a funny, set look on his face that only a dream could achieve, angles and depth not quite right. As he watched, his face flooded with tiny black veins, threading their way under his skin, writhing across his cheeks and into his eyes, making his nose drip black and his whole face unrecognisable. Mirror-Billy grinned.

He sat up, breathing hard and panicked, the sharp grin of mirror-Billy still stuck behind his eyelids. “Shit,” he reached out to grab the piece of quartz from his nightstand, only to realise it wasn’t there, _“shit.”_

Disorientated, he blinked at the sunlight pouring in through his window, foggily remembered that it was only late morning when he’d fallen asleep, still in his jeans with the rose quartz digging into his thigh through the pocket. But… in his sleep-muddled state he was willing to bet it was purely wishful thinking, but he was sure someone else had been in his bed, talking to him as he drifted off.

“Hey?” came a drowsy voice from next to him, thick and distant, “are you okay ba – Billy?”

Billy blinked, looked down at his legs still twisted up with someone else’s on top of the blankets, finally registered the warm weight of a body pressed along his side, and looked across to see Steve lifting himself up to lean back on his elbows, frowning at him in concern. “Huh?”

“You sort of, jumped awake. Bad dream or somethin’?” His shirt had rucked up where he’d been lying down, a strip of pale belly underneath navy blue.

“I guess,” Billy said, throat a little sore from sleeping with his mouth open, probably, and still trying to figure out what in the hell was going on, “not too bad but… bad enough. Y’know?”

“Mm,” Steve nodded and rubbed sleep from his eyes, “yeah, I get it. You sure you’re okay though? I know what happened to me wasn’t the same as… but I still get dreams, and it sucks.” The sun was a little lower now, seeping in and making him all orange, sun caught on his lips and eyelashes as he waited for Billy’s answer. There was a pillow crease on his cheek.

“I’m fine Harrington, jeez,” he said, feeling thoroughly caught out. They couldn’t have been out much more than half an hour, but that was long enough to leave him feeling sleep-warm and dozy and far too comfortable all curled up with Harrington in his fucking bed. Fuck. He’d let his guard down way too much. “Just leave it.” Steve’s frown deepened, hurt, and Billy felt a little twinge of guilt for lashing out. He sighed. “I’m fine, okay? It wasn’t exactly a fuckin’ picnic, but it wasn’t the worst I’ve had either.”

“Good,” Steve brightened a little, patted Billy’s leg, with probably absolutely no idea how that made Billy’s breath catch. “Your hair’s all messed up,” he smiled, all squint-eyed and sleepy-soft, and tugged gently on one of Billy’s still growing curls.

“Wow, thanks,” Billy grumbled back, prayed Harrington was still too dozy to notice how that made his face go hot and his breath short and every other mortifying cliché that he’d laugh until he made himself sick over other people claiming to feel.

“I didn’t mean it like a bad thing,” Steve protested, “it’s cute.” He didn’t even flinch, in fact he had the nerve to fuckin’ yawn like that was an incredibly average thing to say and that he hadn’t just figuratively punched Billy in the heart. “I should probably get going.”

***

It was late afternoon, almost dark and frigidly cold by the time he hauled ass over to Jack’s place. There wasn’t anything the old man had asked him to do, he just couldn’t face sitting around the house thinking about Harrington a second longer. He had every intention of just loitering around with the horses a while, listen to them snuffle and snort at each other a bit until he’d calmed down some, until he stopped replaying the sleepy look on Harrington’s face when he’d totally upset the freakin’ apple cart by calling Billy ‘cute.’ He wasn’t sure if the dumbass even knew he’d said it. But he saw Jack as soon as he pulled up, a bonfire going in the far corner of the field, so he yanked his gloves out of his jacket pocket and stomped over. Jack was burning his way through a pile of old junk; broken crates, a few rotten old tree branches Billy’d helped him take down last week. There was a thermos of coffee and two mugs ready and waiting on top of an overturned log. Billy guessed he was more predictable than he’d thought.

Jack nodded to him as he approached. “Wondered if we’d be seeing you tonight.”

“That so?”

“I had a feeling,” Jack winked, and jerked his head at the coffee.

“Sure you did,” Billy rolled his eyes, tried not to smile as he poured himself a cup.

“Alright, I _hoped_ you would,” Jack said gruffly, not meeting Billy’s eye as he hauled another busted crate onto the fire, “because I wanted to thank you. For all the work you’ve been doing.”

Billy shrugged, even though Jack wasn’t looking, and hoped that’d be enough to put an end to it. “Keeps me outta trouble.”

He laughed a little. “You’re probably right. Lookin’ like you’re starting to get your strength back some,” he said. “And lookin’ a little happier too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t be getting’ soppy on me, old man.” He took a sip of coffee, dark and so bitter it was almost nasty. But it comforting too; the smell reminded him of the shitty too-strong diner coffee from when he and Harrington had gone to get breakfast last Thursday, of the coffee Susan had brought him in bed when he’d been feeling too crappy to get up, of this grumpy old guy who let Billy trespass and brought him gross coffee just because Billy had wanted to hang out with his horses.

“Fine, we won’t talk about you if you don’t wanna,” Jack said, before his wry smile faded. “But I mean it though; thank you. My son would have been lending me a hand with all of this ordinarily. But he uh, he died on the fourth of July.”

Billy froze. The fourth of July. He didn’t need to specify what year or how, everyone in Hawkins knew the grim significance that date carried now. He stayed quiet, put the coffee cup down so he could curl his fingers tight into his palms, wondered if he could fish the rose quartz out of his jean pocket without Jack asking questions.

“He was living here still, with his wife and kids. I got a lot of rooms, y’know? But they couldn’t bear to stick around, after he was gone,” he rubbed at the grey stubble on his chin. “Too many memories and all. They moved out east.”

Billy felt choked with tears, fear that this old man that he hadn’t even met a few weeks ago would suddenly hate him. He should, if he knew what Billy’d done. He asked, even though he already knew the answer – “he died at the mall?” _I killed your son._

But Jack shook his head and swallowed down another gulp of hot coffee, watching the fire and unaware of Billy’s torment. “Nah. He was sick a long time,” he said. “Passed away at home, just like he’d decided on.”

The relief hit him in a wave, the almost tangible wash of it all down his body like cold seawater, and the tension, the _fear,_ that had been building up in him while Jack was speaking snapped back like a whipcord. And he was crying like a fucking baby, wet and messy and fullhearted, like his chest was going to bust open with it. He covered his face with his hands in a vain attempt to smother his gross sobbing, tears soaking into the gloves Susan had started making him wear now the cold had started making his scarred hands ache even worse.

“Aw shit,” he heard Jack say quietly from across the bonfire, and the next minute he’d been pulled into a loose hug so he could cry into Jack’s flannel shirt. He smelt like the woodsmoke and burnt coffee grounds and horse. Billy might have flinched at the unexpected touch, but he was too much of a mess to register it beyond the notion that it anchored him a bit, kept him from being torn apart completely and scattered to the winds. “You’ve seen some shit, haven’t you son.”

There were a lot of things he could have been crying for. For the people he’d killed – because he’d had too big a part in it to ignore, no matter what everybody told him – for his dad, for the kids, for _Harrington,_ for himself, and what that thing had done to him. He was crying for everything and nothing, and once he’d started there was no stopping it until he was all cried out and running on empty.

The bonfire had burned low by the time he sniffled to a stop, face hot and swollen, and gently pushed himself away from the awkward hold Jack had him in. He eyed the tear damp smear he’d left on the old man’s shirt, too wrung out to be embarrassed about it. In the morning, he’d probably be about ready to hurl himself into the fucking quarry. His chest ached with each shuddering breath he took, head throbbing, body heavy and disconnected.

“Sorry,” he said, voice rough and thickened with snot.

“Don’t you go apologising,” Jack said, a little gruff in his awkwardness, but he managed a sad smile for him anyway. “You want a ride home? I don’t think you’re in a fit state to drive just now.”

“No,” he said, “thanks. I’ll be fine in a little while.” Despite how exhausted he felt, he’d probably burst into tears again if Susan gave him that worried little look she had when she knew he was upset, or if Max threw her arms around his middle in a hug and asked if he wanted her to read to him until he fell asleep. If he could just hang out and listen to the horses a while, smell the woodsmoke and watch the stars, he’d be alright.

“Okay then. You want more coffee?”

“…yeah.”


	13. Susan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t written any of this for ages what with holiday fics and all. A little Susan interlude to get me going again. Tiny warning for mentions of Neil's bullshit.

“You know the Wheelers quite well now, don’t you sweetheart?”

Max looked up from where she was carefully swiping blue polish onto her fingernails, half a frown on her face. On reflection, Susan supposed it was a bit of a stupid question; they’d lived in Hawkins a year, and she knew full well Maxine had spent all of last Saturday at the Wheeler house, playing that little game they all seemed so hooked on. All of Max’s friends’ mothers had been to call since Neil had… and she’d come home from work more than once to find the kids sprawled across the sitting room, watching TV or reading comic books, snacks spread out on the carpet between them. It was just… Max was at that age where Susan could feel her pulling away a little, and in the months since that mess at Starcourt, there were times that Max looked as though she was living on a whole different planet, and Susan found herself stumbling over what on earth to say to her daughter.

“Yeah,” she said, holding her fingers to the light and scrutinising her work for any mistakes. Susan never thought she’d see the day Max voluntarily painted her nails. “Why?”

“Karen Wheeler’s asked me to join the book club.” She’d actually asked twice before – once when they’d first moved, and again when it was clear Max was firm friends with that ragtag little group of boys. But Karen had renewed her offer last Thursday, when she’d brought over a promised casserole recipe and an apology that she hadn’t asked after her family sooner, Susan had found herself actually considering it this time. “I thought I might say yes.”

“Oh,” Max said, frown lightening, smoothing away until she actually looked pleased about it. And just a touch surprised, as though her mother having hobbies and interests was something that had never crossed her mind. She always seemed preoccupied with something bigger, though God knows what it could be. That nice Sinclair boy, no doubt. “You should,” she said, with a small but genuine enough smile.

“You know what Maxie, I think I might.” She finally felt as though she might want to put down some tentative roots in Hawkins; before she had felt more as though she was just sitting on the surface of the little town, waiting to be swept off again, and hadn’t wanted to let herself settle. But now she finally felt free to do so, to make a decision that was all her own. Without Neil there to make decisions for her… she didn’t like to speak ill of the dead, especially her own husband, but… she felt like a weight had been lifted, one she hadn’t been brave enough to admit she’d been carrying.

“Cool.” Max surprised her then by getting to her feet, and moving across to the couch to slump against Susan’s side, head half in her lap while she made a show of studying her blue nails. She smelt of marshmallows and crushed grass and the thick tang of nail polish. And… it wasn’t like Susan had felt as though she’d been losing Max, exactly, but the distance between them had undoubtedly been growing ever since they’d moved their unhappy little family to Hawkins. But now she seemed happier than she’d ever been, with her friends and her school, her brother. It was the best Susan could ask for.

“That colour suits you,” she said, eyes on the sparkly blue polish as she tentatively ran a hand through her daughter’s hair.

“Thanks,” she said, “Billy picked it out for me.”

***

Susan paused while pouring herself a coffee, titled her head to listen. When she’d confirmed that yes, she definitely could make out the sounds of Billy shuffling quietly about in his room, she pulled another cup from the shelf. It was a chilly morning, and she treasured the few minutes she still had left to stay huddled up in her bathrobe while she drank her coffee before she’d have to get ready for work. She watched the sky shift grey to pink, and waited. It wasn’t long before her stepson stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, long sleeves pulled down tight over his arms and flexing his scarred fingers. The cold would be giving him some trouble, no doubt. But his hair had grown enough to start curling around his ears, and he’d put a fair bit of weight back on. He was getting better.

“Good morning, honey,” she said softly, watched him blink as though he hadn’t expected her to be there, “there’s coffee, if you want it.”

“Thanks,” he said, and went to pour himself a cup into the mug with a shark on it Max had picked out for him one birthday. Neil had hated it. “Uh, you sleep okay?”

“Yes, thank you Billy,” she said, unable to help the lightness she felt over such a simple little exchange, the sort of thing that came so easy now after months of awkwardness, and the years of indifference or worse that had come before that. “How about you?”

He stilled, and for a second she regretted asking. She hadn’t heard him in the night at all but that certainly didn’t mean he’d had a good one. The worst nights were the ones he screamed himself awake, and she’d watch from the doorway as Max would talk him back to wakefulness, feeling useless, as tears dried on his cheeks. They were always followed by the worst days, ones where Billy was sullen and overtired, frustrated by his body’s slow recovery. But those days were growing fewer, and despite all of it, he seemed more content than she’d ever seen him. There were numerous reasons for it; some she knew, some she could guess at, and some a complete mystery. But she couldn’t help but think, on her own worst days, when the guilt would creep back up like Indiana frost on a windowpane, how much of it stemmed from his father’s absence. She could only hope it wasn’t too late to set some of the wrongs between her and Billy right, now the worst of it was passed.

“Yeah,” he said, “it was fine.”

“Good,” she said, considered getting up to make some toast. In her opinion, Billy still wasn’t eating enough. “Do you have any plans for today?”

He shrugged, one arm clasped tight across his belly and the other clutching the coffee cup, defensive, though probably without realising it, even now. Not that she could blame him for that either. “Take Max to school. Might stop by the video place and see what they’ve got,” his jaw tightened, like there was something else he wanted to say. “Anything you want?”

“No, honey,” she shook her head. “I might be heading over to the Wheelers after dinner, so you pick out whatever you want.”

Billy watched her, a creaking wave of discomfort rolling noticeably over his whole body. She knew better than to ask. “The Wheelers?” he said, the slight sharpness undoing any attempt he was making to appear casual. “Why?”

“I’m going to join the book club.”

“Oh,” Billy slumped, almost imperceptibly, against the counter. Billy could claim she didn’t know him all he liked; in a lot of ways he was right. But she’d spent years watching him, looking between him and his father, and wondering which of them was going to make the decisive push that upset the apple cart. “Good for you, Suzie.”

The tired flash of a smile he sent her seemed sincere, made the bad nights seem one step further behind them both. “Thank you, Billy.” She sipped her coffee. Your friend works there, right? Steve?”

“What?” he twitched, almost dumped his coffee on the kitchen tiles.

“At the video store,” she said.

“Yeah,” Billy said, cautious, as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Had it been his father asking, it probably would have been the build up to something nasty, a trick to urge him towards confessing to some fabricated wrong. That damnable man had a lot to answer for.

“I like him,” Susan said firmly, mostly for Billy’s benefit, but also for herself, to spite the sneering ghost of her husband. It was true; the Harrington boy was always very friendly when they came to rent a movie, and he’d driven Max around an awful lot when Billy was… unable to. He seemed about the nicest friend of Billy’s she’d ever known. It was _good_, to see him with a real friend. “He has a very handsome smile.”

Billy let out a choked sound that ended in a small coughing fit.

“What is it?” Susan was half out of her seat, mind instantly on the x-rays of his battered chest they’d shown her in the days after Starcourt, before Billy held up a hand to stop her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he cleared his throat and chased it down with the rest of his coffee, turned away to glare out the window. “Although none of that’ll be happening if the car quits on me,” he said quietly, “she was a bit slow starting up yesterday.”

“Oh. I can’t spare mine today I’m afraid,” she said. If she’d known, she probably could have arranged for one of the girls to give her a ride to work, but it would be too late now. “But I’m sure we can work something out, if yours has to go back to the shop again. There’s still quite a bit put by from the mall compensation you know, if you’re worrying about the money. We’ll soon have her right as rain.”

He gave her a tight smile, and she mentally flipped through every time she’d turned away, every time she’d looked fixedly at the television, every time she’d closed her bedroom door and pretended not to hear. It was hard to imagine she could ever earn his trust, after letting him down for so long. But there were the nights he’d sobbed into her bathrobe, days she’d sat with him doing crosswords and watching gameshows while he dozed, the first time he hadn’t needed to lean on her to walk to the bathroom, and he’d smiled at her brighter than the goddamn sun. She’d promised herself a hundred times that she would help him, _before._ This time, she was determined for it to stick.

“Thanks, Susan.” And he didn’t touch her shoulder, kiss her forehead or hug her, like he’d done before when Neil had demanded proof that he respected her, that they were a family. But those two little words said and _meant _made her feel more like a mother to the boy that any of the stupid little performances Neil had forced out of him ever had.

“You’re welcome, honey,” she said, getting up from the kitchen chair. “Now, I’d better go make sure your sister’s awake. Say hello to Steve for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could probably write thousands of words about how Susan and Billy sort themselves out in The Aftermath, but that’s not what this fic is about. I hope this goes some way towards it anyway. Next chapter – Steve has A Realisation.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments of the last part <3 Who’s ready for extreme soft boys?? Also I didn’t re-read any of the past chapters before writing this so… continuity? Don’t know her.

Steve had been playing around with the little scrap of paper for so long that the edges had gone all frayed and soft; blue ink from the last digit of the phone number written on it smudged and staining his thumb. He stared at it and through it, sevens and zeros and threes all blurred together as his eyes fixed on the living room ceiling. He wasn’t going to call. He’d known he wasn’t going to call even as he’d watched Casey tear the paper from her notebook and scrawl the number, as she’d winked and slid it across the counter at work. But he’d smiled and taken it anyway, and that was fine. It wasn’t like she’d really expect him to call either; last he’d heard, she was dating one of Tommy’s brothers. The one who’d set his own pant leg on fire at camp. And that was fine too. It was the reason _why_ he knew he wasn’t going to call her that was tripping him up.

He’d done nothing more than fake laugh and swipe another Red Vine when Robin had informed him a couple weeks back that, _somehow,_ he was halfway-cool again. She’d followed it up by saying it defied all logic, calling him a philistine and throwing a Pop Tart at him, but still. At the time he thought she’d only said it to fuck with him, memories of that goddamn chart she’d kept at Scoops flooding back and making him wince. But when he’d started looking for it, it had slowly dawned on him that she actually might have been serious. It wasn’t often, only once or twice a week and nowhere near as obvious as in high school, but it was there. Girls seemed to take interest in him again; called into the video store at the quietest times of the day so he’d be free to talk with them a while, and then go with a little laugh and a wave and without renting anything, leaving the shop smelling of bubblegum and Obsession. And he talked back, _sure,_ he wasn’t an asshole. Flirted a little, made them laugh, preened under their attention, fell back into old habits easier than he ever would have imagined. It was Robin, unsurprisingly, that had pointed out to him that perhaps the reason for the sudden interest from the ladies was that Steve had _stopped trying so goddamn hard._ And she was right. He wasn’t trying so hard anymore because, well, because he just didn’t _care._ Not now they’d saved the world the third time over, and not when there was maybe somebody he already spent all his time thinking about.

He was thinking about him right at that very moment; curled the scrap of paper around his thumb and watched the sunlight on the ceiling, and thought, _I wonder what he’s doing right now._

That Big Bad Billy Hargrove had become Steve’s friend had taken surprisingly little getting used to. It had thrown him for a loop at the start, when he’d slipped up and thought about it too hard, waiting for a miss-step from either of them that would have them back to brawling and biting insults. It wasn’t like he wanted it to go that way, but given their track record, it’d been hard not to wonder, y'know? Even with Hargrove having – understandably – had the wind taken out of his sails by Starcourt and a long stay in hospital, he’d still been unpredictable; quieter, skittish, but just as likely to throw a snarl Steve’s way as a smile. But now… well, it just _was._ To see him pull up outside Family Video, lollipop between his teeth as he rang the bell above the door, driving up to the quarry, or to the diner, passing a bag of chips back and forth as they waited for the kids to finish up… whatever it was they were doing. Hand on the little pink stone he carried in his jean pocket that he thought Steve hadn’t noticed. Smelling of fake sugary grape, of crushed grass, the leather upholstery of his baby. The sharp-toothed laugh when Steve said something that tickled him, a half-familiar curl of his lip when something frustrated him, the way he’d shift minutely closer to Steve when the diner was super busy, eyes darting to the door.

And apparently, as of a few days ago, falling asleep with him, in his bed, in the middle of the day.

He’d woken up, warm and sleepy and rumpled on top of the yellow sheets, to the feeling of Billy all tensed up next to him, breathing quick and hard and scared, had almost whispered _baby._ Had wanted to keep him safe. Let him know that it wasn’t just him, y’know? That Steve wanted to help in any way he could. Had wanted to say fuck the rest of the world and curl up with him forever. Grape lollipops and sharp smiles and worn-soft denim, made gold by the sun through the window. Had wanted to put one hand on the back of Billy’s neck and the other on the warm skin at the small of his back and close his eyes again, breathe him in, kiss him, and… _shit._

It just… it was a lot to think about, okay? So he kept on staring at the smudged blue phone number, and pretended he didn’t know why he was never going to call.

When the phone rang a little while later, he’d been staring at the number so long and so hard, that he’d half convinced himself he was about to hear Casey’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey Harrington, you busy?” _Oh._ He tried to ignore the warm little jolt in his belly. Definitely not Casey.

“Uh, no,” he looked at the scrap of paper twisted around his thumb, at the dent he’d made on the couch lying around all morning, “I guess not. Why?”

“Cool,” Billy said, the shifting sound of clothes rustling over the line as he pulled on his jacket, “I’m comin’ to pick you up.”

“What?” Steve looked down at his mismatched socks, bare legs and boxers, old gym shirt with little holes around the hem. He wasn’t going to have time to shower. “Wait, hold up man, where are we going?”

“See you in ten.”

“Billy – “

“Bye, pretty boy.”

_Shit._

***

“God, Harrington,” Billy drawled when Steve ended up dropping more hay on the floor than he actually got into the spotted horse’s stall, “I should’ve left your useless ass at home. Like, what you’re doing is the literal opposite of help.”

Steve might have been upset about Billy giving him shit, if he’d thought he actually meant it. Also, it was kinda hard to be upset about anything Billy did, now he’d figured out that he maybe… liked him. A bit. A lot. But if he thought about it a little harder, he realised that he hadn’t been upset about anything Billy had done in an awful long time. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just jealous because this guy here likes me more than you.” He jerked his thumb to where the horse was nosing around in the hay Steve had just doled out, ignoring them both entirely. There was frost on the ground outside, cold air turning the horses’ breaths into big clouds of steam when they whickered at each other across the barn.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Billy might have had a point. Turned out Steve was pretty terrible at helping out with the horses. So sue him, he’d never been allowed a pet. Feeding Dustin’s mom’s cat when they'd had to drive overnight to see a specialist bone doctor or whatever in Indianapolis was as close as he’d ever gotten to animal care. Not so much as a damn hamster to his name. He hoped he could make up points with blind enthusiasm; it usually worked. And for making Billy smile. The horses didn’t seem phased by his fumbling anyway.

“What about you, pretty lady,” he strolled on to the next stall, where a horse with a bright, gingery colour coat let him pet her nose, “what do you think of ol’ Steve, huh?” They’d all seemed to figure out he was a soft touch pretty quick, big soft noses nudging at his pockets in search of something tasty. And he let them; they were big and he was a little wary of getting stepped on or losing some fingers. Billy could call him a hick until he was blue in the face, didn’t mean Steve knew shit about horses. Although with the determination the horse was nosing into his pockets with, he was starting to wonder how often Billy snuck them treats out of his jacket.

Billy snorted as he finished adjusting the horse blanket on the big brown horse in the stall at the end. Steve could practically hear the eye roll. “You leave Max alone, Harrington.”

“Oh,” Steve was feeling brave enough to reach up to rub at the horse’s ears. She seemed to like it, her eyes went all droopy, and she leant heavily into is touch. “Her name’s Max? That’s funny.”

Billy didn’t reply. Steve looked up to see him watching them, eyes all big and brow quirked like he was trying to figure something out, breath misting in the chilly late afternoon. He was… he looked so open, so _good,_ it made Steve’s chest ache. He wanted to make him smile again.

“Hey Hargrove,” he picked up a stray pellet of horse feed, “think fast.” He flicked it across at Billy before he could blink, where it hit him square between the eyes.

There was a second where neither of them said anything, Steve waiting to see if he’d fucked up and Billy looking as though he couldn’t believe that Steve had dared do what he’d just done. But then his mouth snapped shut and his eyes turned bright, lip curling up with just a little bit of that old danger. “You’re dead Harrington.”

“Oh shit – “

Before Steve had gathered enough of his wits to stop him, Billy had grabbed a handful of straw and stuffed it down Steve’s collar, the scratchy stalks tickling and pocking into his chest. If he yelped, it was more because of the cold brush of Billy’s fingertips on his collarbone than the straw. It was a free-for-all then, both of them throwing horse pellets, insults and handfuls of straw until they could barely stand up for laughing, quick breaths misting and melting away. Bits of hay and horse feed clung to the jacket Billy was wearing. It was thick and blue, and probably the first time Steve had ever witnessed him wearing a proper coat.

“Good to see you’ve upgraded your winter wardrobe,” he said, tugging gently on the jacket collar, “definite improvement on last year.” Billy’s mouth went all tight, and worried he’d said something wrong, Steve practically fell over himself to set it right. “I mean, it’s cute y’know? That you’re all bundled up, just like the horses in their little coats...” He winced even as he heard himself say it, distracted them both by gently pulling a stray piece of hay out of Billy’s hair. It was long enough to start curling again now, stuck out under the winter hat he’d jammed on to his head when they’d gotten out of the car.

“I um,” Billy’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “only wear it when I’m helping the old man.”

“Well, that’s good,” Steve said firmly, “it’s fucking cold up here.” Too cold for an old flannel and a denim jacket, that was for sure.

Billy smiled again, the smallest tick of his mouth, and that hot little jolt in Steve’s belly came back full force. His lips looked a bit chapped and sore, face still pink from the cold and their throwing shit at each other. And Steve felt like a sap for even thinking it, but Billy really did have the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. Billy from last year probably would have given him a punch or a verbal slap for studying him so hard, but Billy now was looking him over with a similar kind of intensity, enough so that Steve let himself hope that maybe, _maybe…_

“She’s not really called Max,” Billy said, “the chestnut.”

Steve blinked, looked over to where the gingery horse was flicking hay all in her water bucket. “She’s not?”

“Nah. I don’t know what any of them are called, actually,” he sniffed. “Never asked. I kind of, uh, gave them names of my own when I first started coming up here.”

“Oh," he said. "Well, what d’you call ‘em?”

“You know Max,” he nodded to the chestnut, rubbed uncomfortably at his neck. “Lars is the spotted, then Nikki and Rudolf – “

Steve couldn’t help but snort at that. “That’s a reindeer name, man.”

“You asked,” Billy said hotly.

“I did.”

“And he’s not named after a reindeer, asshole. He’s named after Rudolf Schenker.”

“…who?”

“Scorpions?”

“Never heard of ‘em,” Steve said cheerfully in the face of Billy’s poorly maintained glaring. It was one of Steve’s favourite faces on him; when he was trying so hard to look mad or scary, but couldn’t quite stop his smile showing through. “What about the last one?”

Billy’s half-scowl half-smile shifted to an awkward grimace as he looked down at the barn floor. “Harrington.”

Oh. “You named a horse after me?”

“Yeah well,” Billy mumbled. “You’ve got the same big brown eyes and you’re both dumb as shit, so….”

Steve felt himself choke a little, couldn’t stop the grin from spreading big and obvious across his face as Billy tilted his chin up to look at him, defensive and a touch shy. “That’s – "

“Ah, Billy,” came a voice from across the barn. The old guy who Steve guessed the horses actually belonged to, and had given actual names that weren’t rockstars and little sisters and… whatever the hell Steve was to Billy. “You’re early. Good to see you’re finally wearing that jacket I dug out for you.”

“Yeah.”

The man gave him an approving nod. “Told you you’d be about the same size as my boy was.”

“Um yeah,” Billy brushed some of the loose hay off his jacket, looked carefully uninterested. “Jack this is Steve. Steve, Jack.”

“Good to meet you sir,” Steve said.

Jack laughed at that, a creaking, wheezy snort of amusement, and scratched Harrington the horse under the chin. “Now now, none of that. Jack’ll do just fine,” he said. “You’ve been uh, helping Billy here with the horses this afternoon?”

“If you could call it that,” Billy cut in with a smug little smile, “he’s useless.”

“Hey!” Steve elbowed him in the ribs.

Billy just cackled, and looked far too delighted about it.

“Well, thank you for helping out, son,” Jack said over Steve’s huffing. “Billy, could I talk to you a minute?” Billy nodded, and they walked away towards the door.

Steve leant back against Lars’ stall, absently petted at the horse’s speckled nose as he watched the two of them talk. They were too far away to hear what they were saying over the shuffling and snorting of the animals, but something Billy said made Jack half smile and toss his head like one of the horses. He said something in response that made Billy go pink in the face and shoot a quick little glance over at Steve. He wondered if that was a cue to go and help Billy out of an awkward conversation, but then Jack was throwing a wave over his shoulder and heading back into the house, leaving Billy to sulkily shove his hands in his pockets, and Steve wondering what the hell that was all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack knows what's up.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI it's been a while since I've updated this. Again. Continuity? Don't know her.

Billy still hated driving into town. People didn’t stare and whisper after him so much anymore, but he still _felt_ like they were, and he didn’t know when, if ever, that would go away. Made him want to slam his fist right through the dashboard a little bit. Stuck waiting at a light, he lifted his hand to the back of his neck to fiddle with the new curls of his growing-in hair, still keenly missed the semblance of a shield it had always given him before. He sniffed. When he’d left the house a little while ago, he hadn’t known where he was going to end up. But he’d been too goddamn antsy to sit around at home doing nothin’ while Susan fluttered about asking him if he wanted a sandwich every five minutes, and the car had started up without any problems, so… he hadn’t wanted to think any harder on it. Just going through the motions of driving was enough of a distraction. Instead of making his way along the back roads over to Jack’s place like he’d half thought he would, he’d ended up speeding right into town, not missing the slow blinks and craning glances the throaty rumble of the Camaro attracted along the main drag, otherwise quiet on a weekday afternoon. The car smelt of horse.

He’d let himself get all het up over Harrington. What was fuckin’ new, right? He dug blindly though the glove box in search of a lollipop, hissing when he came up empty. _Shit_, he still missed his smokes. Actually no, fuck that, _he_ hadn’t gotten himself into a state, it was entirely _Harrington’s_ fault. What sort of guy called his buddy cute? _Twice._ The first time, he’d tried to let it slide as a weird slip of the tongue to avoid letting himself hope, but _twice?_ Was he actually trying to put Billy into an early grave, do what a goddamn parasitic monster from another dimension hadn’t managed? Nah. If he didn’t want to drive himself crazy thinking about it, he had to think Steve genuinely had no idea what he was doin’ to him.

“_Shit,_ man.”

And then Jack had pulled him aside and told him how obviously they were pining after each other. _Like a couple of wolves miles apart and howlin’ up at the same moon, son._ Whatever the fuck that meant. But before Billy could even jump to defend himself, the old man had smiled and told Billy to make sure he fed Lars a little extra because he’d been looking kinda ribby lately, before stomping off back to the house. And the ease of that parting line had helped quell the rushing, crippling dread that had filled every inch of Billy’s body when Jack made it obvious that _he knew_. But that he didn’t give a shit. Which was both an unnerving and amazing feeling in equal measure. The thought of someone _knowing _about him… it still made him either want to lash out and take the first bite or curl up small enough to escape notice. And maybe that would never totally go away either. But it was nowhere near as all-consuming as it would have been before. It made him feel squirmy and uncomfortable, and just the tiniest bit of that old curling, defensive anger, but he didn’t want to tear the world apart. Not that he liked his business being anyone else’s business either, but… maybe, it'd be okay.

“Fuckin’ sappy asshole…”

He might’ve been more pissed, or more frightened, about Jack knowing, if he hadn’t had Harrington to fret over. Billy’d almost fuckin’ done it right then and there, _kissed him,_ in the barn, with the horses blinking at them mundanely like it wasn’t something fucking outstanding, something more spectacular and terrifying than Billy could even try to describe. Both of them covered in hay and breathing hard after their tussle, Steve all close and pink-mouthed and tugging a piece of hay out of Billy’s hair, hands on his jacket like he might just haul him in close, eyes all big and dark and liquidy brown, just like Harrington the horse. Only prettier. But he’d chickened out. Because even though Harrington had called him cute – and twice at that, the bastard – it was too big of a risk. He’d told himself again, like he had done a hundred times before, that now they were friends, it was too much to lose. Didn’t stop him wanting to do it again a handful of moments later though, when he’d told Steve he’d named the dumb horse after him, and he’d smiled all big and flushed and happy like Billy’d agreed to be his fuckin’ prom date or whatever. Then Jack had appeared and he’d smiled and _he knew_ and he didn’t care, but it had thrown Billy off enough to stop thinking about jumping Steve for the rest of the afternoon.

It wasn’t until he pulled into the parking lot that he realised his traitorous body and driven him to the video store. He could blame it on muscle memory maybe, having driven Maxine to the arcade so many fucking times, but he’d be making a liar of himself. More of a liar. All he had to do was look at the BMW, empty chip packet, two tapes and a lone tennis shoe on the passenger seat, sitting cold a few spaces away to know why he’d driven there.

“…Fuck’s sake.”

Family Video was stiflingly hot inside, space heaters pumping out fake, dry heat to keep the frost at bay and slow trickle of customers happy. The Buckley chick was at the counter, and he tried to keep the small lick of snarling embarrassment at the sight of her from showing. Apparently he still wasn’t quite over the time she’d practically scooped him off the sidewalk when he’d been having a real bitch of a day. He was grateful for it, sure, but… there were only so many blows his dignity could take.

“What brings you here, Malibu?” she said without looking up from the book she was reading at the register.

“Your charming company, Buckley,” he drawled, “what else.”

She rolled her eyes and her half smile dropped just a touch, the same twinge of discomfort over showing any kind of emotion in public that Billy felt, before hesitantly saying, “you uh, doing okay?”

“Still alive,” he said, more gruff than he’d meant to, hesitated before making the effort to smooth it over. “I’m fine. And if I’m not, I can always count on you to swoop in to give me a Coke and a good talkin’ to, right?”

“Right.” She snorted, and he didn’t think he was imagining the slight look of relief on her face. “I’ll go get Steve. The dingus’ll be pissed if I let you go without saying hey.”

She disappeared out to the back, leaving Billy with nothing to do but wait and look around the deserted store. There was a calendar hanging behind the counter, one of the shitty cheap ones local businesses gave away free, with uninspiring views of local landmarks. It was hanging a little crooked, and feeling all strung out like he did and with nothing else to do with his hands, Billy was about thirty seconds away from vaulting over the counter to set it right. It wasn’t until his eye slid from the depressing picture of a grain silo to the month written underneath that the date hit him. Almost a year since he’d smashed a plate over Harrington’s head and beat him bloody. Other things too, but that was the one that hit him the hardest in the moment.

“Hey big guy,” Steve appeared from the back room, Billy so lost in past uncomfortable recollection that he flinched guiltily, hoped Steve was too busy fussing with his work vest to notice. “I’m gunna take my fifteen, if you wanna head outside?”

Billy shrugged. “Sure.”

Steve beamed, held the door open for him. “If I have to breathe in the air from that funky space heater another minute, I’m gunna pass out, man.”

They leant on the wall around the side of the store, blessedly cool air taking away the dizzy remnants of the overpowering heating. Steve was telling him about some old lady who came in every day to tell him about her pet birds but never rented anything, waving his hands around as he spoke. Billy half listened, eyes stuck on Steve’s big hands, knuckles a little red and chapped with cold. He wanted to lick ‘em.

“She spent ten whole minutes telling me about how it was Sparky’s birthday – “

“Sparky?”

“The green one.”

“Right.”

“And all the shit she’s gotta get so she can make him his own little bird cake.”

“Is that right.”

Billy was mostly just listening to him talk, watching the happy uptick of his pretty pink mouth and the solid feeling of his shoulder pressed up along Billy’s where they leant on the wall. Just for a minute, he thought, he’d let that rushing happiness take hold, let the simplicity of it carry him along and paint out all the other complicated shit he felt about Steve Harrington. That was, until he remembered the calendar hanging up in the store, the big blocky NOVEMBER that made him want to study Steve’s hairline for a scar he wasn’t even sure existed, chips of white china on the kitchen floor.

“What is it?”

“Huh?” Billy came back to himself to find Steve blinking at him, stuck between a smile and a frown.

“There something on my face?” he said. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“Do you have a scar,” Billy said sharply before he could think any better of it, “from where I… with the plate?”

“From the… oh,” Steve reached up to self-consciously run his fingers through his hair, “uh, no.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence, during which Billy seriously considered hightailing it back to the safety of his car.

“Thought I might, just after. Dustin kept telling me it would look badass, that I’d get a new girlfriend in no time with a cool scar,” he shook his head. “But it wasn’t actually that deep,” he smiled, easy and a little lop-sided, and what the fuck had Billy done to deserve it? “Bled like a bitch though.”

“How can you be so goddamn… _cool_ about it Harrington?” Billy said, a little desperate, “I could’ve – “

“Jesus, I don’t care about that anymore man,” Steve laughed, _laughed._ “Yeah it was shitty, and we can talk about it some time if you want. But I know you better now. You’re my best friend or whatever. Only maybe don’t tell Robin that.”

“...Okay.”

“I like hanging out with you,” he said, smile slipping off his face as his jaw set, looked like he was really working his way up to something, and Billy dug at his pocket to feel out the rose quartz. “You’re funny and smart and you’re brave. And you smell good, and you listen to me talk about old ladies with birds. And you drive me out to the middle of nowhere to pet horses like I’m some lady you’re trying to romance out of Nancy’s mom’s books, and I like it,” he _was_ getting worked up now, all pink in the face, hands waving again, and eyes on the sidewalk rather than Billy. “I like that you do that, y’know? I like you. When we’re not hanging out, I’m thinking about when we’ll hang out next. I don’t know who I’d be without you, you asshole, when did that even happen – “

Billy had forgotten how to breathe round about ‘romance,’ at first because he’d thought Steve had been about to tell him to back off, but then because he’d started to think maybe it was the exact opposite. And then his head felt all thick while everything kept on tumbling right out of Steve’s mouth like he couldn’t stop himself, his hands gone clumsy and heavy as his mind emptied of every coherent thought other than _I want to kiss him._

This time he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY
> 
> Won’t lie, I’m finding this A Struggle to finish. But I hate leaving WIPs incomplete lol so I’ll get it done one way or another.


	16. El

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> El is not as easy to summon up as the boys lol. I haven’t actually watched any of the show for ages and I don’t write her PoV often so… here we are.

She could hear him before they even came in. Not hear exactly; but she could _feel_ him seeping into the back of her head as they got closer, like a rush of warm waves and the scrub of wet sand. It wasn’t on purpose. She was sure he didn’t have any sort of power – hers or the monster’s – left inside him, but ever since she’d been in his head at the mall, she’d found she could sort of… pick him up? Like a radio signal. That’s what Mike had said, when she’d tried to explain it to him. It was only when he was close by, which hadn’t happened often since Billy’d come home from the hospital. Just once at Will’s house, and a few times they must have passed by each other in town, the next street or store over maybe, and she’d felt the tickly, salt-tinged brush of his mind at the back of her head. It had caught her off guard – the first time she’d almost dropped the stack of canned peas Will’s mom had piled into her arms at the store – but it had happened enough times since that it was starting to feel familiar, almost… nice. A car door slammed outside, and she could hear Billy and Max talking, a laughing half-argument they didn’t mean, and felt the rush of warm waves in her head.

“They’re here,” she said, licked the last of the chip salt off of her fingers.

“Yeah I got that,” Jim said, shut the refrigerator, “could hear those two yappin’ at each other the next town over.”

A loud shriek of outraged laughter from Max proved his point, and she smothered a laugh behind her hand.

_“Jesus.”_

A knock at the trailer door, and Jim sighed and nodded to her to let them in. El couldn’t keep back her grin as she ran to open the door, didn’t _want_ to keep it back. The second the door was open, Max threw her arms around her, and El hugged her back hard, strawberry shampoo hair tickling her nose. El had missed her friend, and she knew Max had missed her too; told her so as they came into the trailer, that hanging with just the boys and her dumb brother wasn’t the same. El felt brave enough to glance at Billy then, but he avoided her eye, only snorted at Max’s teasing before he stalked past them. Not yet, then. That was okay. He wouldn’t have come if he wasn’t ready to see her.

“I’ve been practising, look!” Max waved her painted fingernails at her, in that same, sparkly blue Billy had bought for her a little while ago, but neater than their first attempts.

El frowned at her own nails, fuchsia pink and chipped from the last time Max had been able to bring her magazines over. “Do mine?”

“Sure!” Max beamed. “Maybe you can come to our house soon,” she looked, with just a touch of hesitation, between Jim and her brother, watching for protest from either. There was none.

“Okay.”

They’d seen a lot less of each other since Billy’d come home. He’d needed Max to help him get strong again, to help clear away the heavy clouds she knew lurked in his head. And she’d been careful to stay away while he got better, knowing that Billy wasn’t ready to see her after everything. She’d tried not to think about it too much; it made her feel sad and squirmy. But she and Jim had been staying at Will’s house a lot, which meant she'd had plenty of other things to think about, and keep her from feeling the awkwardness of something unfinished. Jim liked Mrs Byers. And El liked hanging out with Will, and liked not sleeping in the trailer. It smelt funny. Jim said she was wrong, but it did.

Jim made a funny little coughing sound, and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. There was only a bowl and two cups, and usually it got much, much worse before they played paper scissors stone to decide who had to wash them, but she thought he maybe wanted to give them space without leaving the room. Max took the can of pop El offered her – though Billy shook his head – and sat on the floor to watch TV. Billy followed El to the couch, his eyes on the dust caught in the sun through the window. The quietish buzz of the quiz show was nice, soothing, but not so much to distract.

“So,” Billy said, “how’s it goin’ short stuff?”

She blinked at him. “Fine.”

He blinked back, shifted around and chewed on his thumbnail. “Not much of a talker are ya.”

She shrugged. “There’s not always something to say.”

He laughed a little. It made him look completely different. “I guess you’re right.”

“You look uncomfortable.”

“Wow, right to it kid huh.” His smile fluttered. It looked like he had to concentrate to keep it there.

“Why?”

“I–“ his smile disappeared altogether, and he sort of wilted. A sad little breath before he met her eye again. “The same reason I couldn’t come and talk to you sooner,” he said. “It’s a lot.”

“A lot?”

“Yeah. Seein’ you reminds me of him,” he said, eyes on the floor now as Jim and Max carefully ignored them, “and that’s not your fault, kid, I know that. But the two of you are kinda of… all twisted up into the same mess in my head, y’know?”

“Yes,” she said. She’d had enough of the bad, more than enough, and of the good come side by side to know they could bleed into each other.

“So it’s just taken me some time to… not feel scared of you.” He said it so quietly, it was almost a whisper. He looked embarrassed, small and hunched in on himself. Jim had gone quiet too, and Max’s hand was curled tight into her own knee. “Dumb huh?”

“No,” she said with a shrug, “not dumb.”

“It’s just…” he shook his head, frowned, carried on, “you make me remember all the things I did,” he swallowed. “And I don’t want to remember that. I hurt you. I killed–“ he hesitated, his mouth tightened into a snarl as he forced the words out, “I helped it kill people,” he finished carefully. “And I could have hurt all of you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, soft because he looked so sad, “it wasn’t on purpose.”

He laughed, a little wet. “Not the point, kiddo.”

“It could have picked anyone, Billy.”

“But it didn’t,” he said. “It picked me. Fuckin’ useless…”

Max gave up pretending and came to sit silently at her brother’s side. She dug a small, pink rock out of his pocket and pushed it into his hand. The meaning of it was lost on her, but she could ask Max about it another time; now didn’t feel right.

“Thanks, gingerbread,” he rolled it between his fingers, and Max left a hand on his arm.

“That’s okay,” she said quietly.

“You beat him though,” said El. “Not everybody could have.”

“Only because of you,” he said, and he sounded angry, but his mouth twisted down like he was sad.

“Not the point kiddo,” she said back to him, made her voice deep and rumbly like his, pleased with the bark of laughter and the little smile she got for it.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, when the smile had faded away again, “for saving me.”

“That’s okay. But it wasn’t all me.” _Seagulls. Sand. Waves. Blue and yellow. Seven feet._ “You were still in there. You were strong. Brave.”

For some reason that made him smile again. He snorted, blinked away tears before they could fall. “You people keep telling me that.”

“It’s true,” she said. “Can we be friends now?”

He sighed, and she felt some of the tension drop out of his body. “Sure.”

Because it seemed like the right thing to do – and because they were friends now – she hugged him. It was hesitant and a bit stiff, it still didn’t come as naturally to her with everyone, and she felt Billy tense up again. She could feel his waves rushing in the back of her mind again, stronger now they were touching, and clearer now they’d pulled so many of his emotions to the surface with their talk. He was feeling very loudly, and a few things slipped through before she could guard against them; her own face lit pink and blue in the mall, Max and her mom asleep on the sofa. Horses. Kissing someone, a boy, all cold noses and fingertips and misty breath in the cold sun.

“Oh, she startled and pulled away slowly, wary of making him jump. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, voice scratchy and a tiny bit pleased. “Just wasn’t expectin’ the hug. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just – I can feel how much happier you are, is all,” she said, rested her hands back in her lap, fiddled until a flake of pink polish came away from her nail. “Billy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… happy you came to see me.” She’d understood why he hadn’t been able to face her straight away but, but that hadn’t made the waiting pass by any quicker.

“Hm.”

She didn’t have anything else she wanted to say. She wasn’t sure if Billy wanted to say anything else, _hear_ anything else, or not, but he didn’t speak, so she let him be. They sat and watched TV together a while, Max still leaning on her brother and her sitting close by, eyes flicking from the screen to check on them every few minutes. It left her feeling calm and fuzzy, a tiny little weight she hadn’t known she was still carrying gone from her shoulders. Jim handed Billy a beer and gave him the same _keep this a secret look _that he gave her when they had candy for breakfast. It was nice.

“You picked the colour,” she said after a while, pointing to Max’s fingernails.

“Yeah,” Billy said.

“It’s pretty. I think I want yellow next.”

Billy cracked a smile. “Subtle as a fuckin’ brick, kid.”

She frowned, both of them ignoring Jim’s half-hearted warning about curse words. “What?”

“Nothin’. I’ll find you a yellow.”

El smiled and helped herself to a handful of chips from the second bag she’d wheedled out of Jim because they had company, and thought about her sunflower yellow nails. She hoped, very much, that she and Max would be able to see each other more again now. She was glad Billy came to see her too. She liked him. And she was glad the mindflayer’s phantom hold on him was getting looser every day. It was hard to forget about him some days, she knew that. She was glad he felt like he could be happy again, and wondered how much of it was because of the boy she’d seen him kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been reading a lot of Witcher fic and the amount of times I almost wrote that El could smell Billy’s emotions before I reined myself in was ridiculous.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of interlude where they kiss and stuff.

Steve’s hand was on one of his scars. He wasn’t sure Steve knew he was doing it; hand up Billy’s shirt and slowly rubbing a thumb back and forth over a ridge of pink scar tissue on his belly while they kissed. It was sorta killing the buzz Billy had going to be honest, which was fucking annoying. Not because he was embarrassed about them or whatever – not with Steve – but more because Harrington didn’t seem to give a shit either; was _actively _touching them, seeking them out. Which was… making Billy feel things far too serious for what was meant to be a bit of fun while they had the house to themselves. He opened his eyes to see Steve, blurred and out of focus because he was _so close_, eyes closed as he kissed gently at Billy’s mouth. He was… shit, maybe it was just Billy’s dick talking, but he was everything.

“You doing okay baby?” Steve must have felt him tense or shift or whatever, because he pulled back just enough to look Billy in the eye, pink-cheeked and dozy with kisses.

“Yeah,” Billy said, startled by the crack in his own voice, and pulled Steve’s hand out from under his shirt to link their fingers together. Just so he’d take his paws off of Billy’s scars for second. Obviously.

Steve hummed and tucked his head down, pressed his nose in under the crook of Billy’s neck, breathed him in. His hair smelt lemony, tickled Billy’s face, lips warm and puffed up from kisses, dry on his skin. Billy tilted his head to the side just a fraction, let Steve press in closer, breathe a little deeper.

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Billy said, tried to keep the happy little thrill it gave him under wraps.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you always smell so good,” Steve mumbled, breath hot on his jaw.

This thing they had going had only been a thing for just over a week. Since he’d stopped being a pussy about it and kissed Steve quiet behind the video store. Since Steve had blurted out enough for Billy to know for sure Steve was into it too. Billy’s pride would have liked him to be able to say they’d hung out just the same as they had done before, with a bit of necking thrown in for good measure. But now he knew he was allowed to get his dirty hands on Harrington any time he wanted, it had proved hard to stop. Eh, not that he’d really wanted to anyway. After a couple of rushed and desperate fumbles Billy’d worked out that the _smell_ of him seemed to be one of the things that revved Steve’s engine. A part of him – a vain part that had been starting to come back into play since he and Steve had started hanging out, that couldn’t help but care a little bit about things like that even though Steve had already seen him far, far worse – worried he smelled like horse.

“Yeah, if you count sweat and horse as good,” Billy said, brought his hand up to the warm skin at small of Steve’s back, pressed his fingers into the dimples sitting pretty just above his waistband.

“I do,” Steve said, lips on Billy’s neck and giving him a perfect view of that little mole on his throat, “it’s sexy.”

Billy snorted despite the heat that flared up across his face. “Dork.”

He grabbed Steve by the collar of his dumb puffy vest to pull himself up, hooked a leg around and rolled to reverse their positions so he was sitting across Steve’s thighs. Steve huffed as his head hit Billy’s pillow. King Steve himself all laid out on Billy’s bed was still a little more than he could handle.

“Hm,” he groped at the front of Steve’s jeans so he wouldn’t look up at whatever the fuck embarrassing thing Billy’s face was doing, fingers squeezing gently as he rubbed along the seam, the heat of him through the denim, “I wonder who has the bigger dick, you or Harrington the horse.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Billy that’s – “ his breath hitched on a particularly firm squeeze “ – gross.”

Billy grinned and gave him another squeeze for good measure. “Only kiddin’ Uptown Girl. I know you’re bigger.”

The front door slammed, followed by the sound of Max and El bursting into the house talking excitedly about some shit Billy couldn’t quite make out. The slam echoed in his ears, went through his bones, years of habit making him startle and scramble away from Steve. A good few feet away on the bed and breathing fast, Billy looked up to Steve looking just as fuckin’ thrown, eyes wide and mouth a little open as he stared at the closed bedroom door. They looked at each other for a handful of seconds before they both lost it, laughing big and loud and real over something so _stupid,_ so loud that Max yelled from the next room for them to can it. Which only made them laugh all the harder, almost in tears, until it occurred to Billy again how different things had been for him a few months ago, _Before_, and everything suddenly seemed a lot less funny. Makin’ out with a boy under his father’s roof… hell, he’d probably be dead if the door had slammed open like that and it’d been Neil. Not that he’d have been dumb enough to even to try it, but… fuck. It hit him a lot harder than he was ready for.

“You okay there, big guy?” Steve said when he noticed Billy’d gone all quiet on him.

“Peachy.”

“It’s El right?” Steve pressed, and Billy kept his eyes fixed on the rumpled orange blanket instead of his face. “I know you went to see her and Hop, I just… I dunno, I guess I didn’t think you’d wanna talk about it yet. Sorry.”

He was a mile off, but damn right Billy was going to use that as a cover up for the mess of things he was actually feeling and definitely did not want to talk about. Even if Harrington’s quiet little ‘sorry’ he sure as shit didn’t deserve made him feel like a creep for doing it. “Uh huh, you got me. Say, how’s the whole cop thing coming along Harrington, haven’t heard you flappin’ your gums about that for a while. Let’s talk about that, huh?”

“Hey,” Steve said softly, like he was reprimanding one of the horses but still half-afraid of spooking them, reached across to prod him gently in the ribs, “don’t change the subject.”

Billy rolled his eyes, let himself be pulled back into a sloppy sort of half-lying down hug, his face all smushed into Steve’s navy and white striped shirt, zip of the vest pressing into his cheek. “I’m fine, Stevie,” he said, before forcing himself to add, honestly, “better, now I’ve talked to her. But you’re right, I don’t wanna… not now.”

He felt Steve loosen up a little underneath him, a big hand on his back. “That’s good. I’m – I’m proud of you, y’know?”

“Fuckin’ sap,” Billy buried his face further into that stupid vest, breathed in the car and clean sweat and laundry detergent smell of him.

Steve laughed and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “C’mon, we better go see if the squirts are hungry.” Then he was gone, out in the hall and hollering to the girls about sandwiches. Billy blinked at the sudden lack of arms around him, then followed him out to the kitchen before Max could get her hands on the last of the pastrami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a visual, Steve is wearing something similar to his FAVOURITE OUTFIT OF MINE near the start of s2 when he and Nancy are in the library.


	18. Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really tiny Will interlude

Will liked Billy Hargrove. He looked like everything his instincts told him to avoid – his earring and his tattoo, leather jackets and tight jeans and a quick temper, a little too mean and a little too cool to ever be friends with someone like Will. But Billy wasn’t just what he looked like, or used to look like. Will had _liked_ talking with him that day on the porch. Spending time with someone else who’d had the mindflayer in their head made him feel a little less crazy; some mornings he woke up and, just for a second, wondered if he’d dreamed it all up. Talking to Billy was a reminder that he hadn’t but… in a nice way? Like how talking to El made him feel sometimes, if one of them was feeling upset.

And yeah, Billy had been a bully, he knew that. He’d seen Steve’s face, heard the awed whispers when he’d arrived in town just like everybody else. But he hadn’t been exactly present for it, for everything he’d done that night in November that had made the others wary of him the first time around. And the second time around didn’t count, since it wasn’t really him doing it. But he wasn’t scary anymore. He was quiet, sometimes, and a little sad, and Will knew he had to have scars from what the mindflayer did to him, under his shirt. The whispers that followed him now were pretty different. Nobody was scared of him anymore.

He was taking them for a drive somewhere. Or technically Steve was driving, although Billy didn’t seem all that happy with his method, because Will, Max, El, _and_ Falkor the dog wouldn’t all fit in the back of Billy’s car. It was sunny for November, and Will squinted against the light as Steve turned to head towards the edges of town.

“You drive like my grandma, Harrington,” Billy sighed and swung his feet up onto the dash.

“I drive like a responsible human being, Hargrove,” Steve said back, swatting Billy’s hand away from the radio.

“Jesus Christ, you’re lucky you’re pretty man, because ‘being a responsible driver’ is not on the list of ways to win over chicks.”

Billy wasn’t sad today. He and Steve had been arguing back and forth ever since they’d picked up Will around lunch time. About the music, about which roads to take, about which cereal was best, and when they’d spilt a box of Reese’s Pieces on the floor. But it didn’t seem like they were actually mad with each other, like they meant it. More like his mom and Hopper. Which was… weird. And they kept laughing too, which ruined the glares Billy kept sending Steve across the front seat.

“Where are we going?” Max groaned and kicked the back of Billy’s seat.

“Feet off, gingerbread,” he swiped at her ankles, “this ain’t my car, remember.”

Max rolled her eyes. “Steve doesn’t care.”

Steve laughed. “Steve cares a little bit.”

“Pipe down, we’re almost there.”

A few minutes later, they pulled up by a field with some horses in it. Will felt a little pull of excitement. He’d always liked horses; every brave knight or warrior had some kind of majestic mount. And there’d been that one summer where he’d done nothing but draw unicorns and great white horses with wings, and his mom had seventeen drawings taped to the refrigerator by the time he went back to school. It seemed dumb and babyish to get so excited over a few ordinary horses now. But then Billy was climbing out of the car and over to the fence, a big, brown horse ambling over to sniff at him.

“Come and say hi, losers,” Billy said, rubbing at the horse’s ears.

Max and El were out of the car in a flash, laughing and sticking their hands through the gaps in the fence, petting the horses’ noses and tearing up handfuls of grass to feed them. Steve snorted and rolled his eyes at Will in the rear-view mirror, then he was clambering out of the car too. Falkor hopped out after the girls, woofing and worried he was missing something. Will watched as he skittered over on his three legs, sniffing up and down the length of the fence, eyeing the horses warily and not brave enough to get too much closer. He hesitated a moment longer before following. If Billy thought horses were cool, Will guessed there was no reason for him not to like them too.

“Hi kid,” Billy gave him a small, close-lipped smile when Will drew up to the fence beside him, put his hands on the sun warmed wood.

“You like horses?” he asked.

Billy grunted, let the horse nose at his hair. “You sound surprised."

“I dunno,” Will shrugged. “You just… don’t seem like much of a horse guy, I guess.”

“You’re probably right,” Billy kept looking out over the field. “I started coming up here when everything was too much,” he said, “calmed me down and shit, y’know?”

Will nodded. “I know.” He petted the velvety soft nose of the big spotted horse who’d come over to say hello. He smelt like warm dust, and grass.

“Now I mostly just come out here because I like it.”

“You feel better now?” Will said, the horse’s breath hot and soft over his fingers.

“Good and bad days, little Byers,” he shrugged, and Will noticed that same little pink rock between his fingers, “just less bad ones now. You know all about that though, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Hey guys,” Steve jogged over, hand up to keep the sun out of his eyes, “I was trying to keep an eye on your dog, but uh, the little guy keeps getting away from me.”

“Oh, sorry,” Will said, automatically turning his head to search for the scrap of white fur, “he gets excited.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said, waved a hand in dismissal, “I don’t mind, I just wanted you to know.”

“Jeez Harrington,” Billy said, “we leave you alone for five minutes…”

“Yeah well, we don’t all have a weird way with animals, asshole,” Steve grinned and flicked Billy’s arm.

Will suddenly felt like an intruder, watching Steve tease Billy and Billy letting him. He mumbled something about going to find Falkor, and slipped away. He found the dog locked in a weird staring contest with one of the horses, and scooped him up so he’d stop bothering them. Sitting on the grass out of the way, he watched El and Max trying to braid one of the horse’s manes over the fence. He closed his eyes. It would be too cold for this kind of thing soon, first snow due any time now and making sitting around outside impossible. But he let himself feel the sun on his face for a few minutes, red behind his eyelids, and listened to the quiet movements of the others.

He looked back over to where Steve and Billy were standing, noticed Steve’s hand tucked loose in Billy’s back jean pocket. Which… he felt his heart pick up a little bit, pulsing in the back of his throat and making his breath catch. He didn’t want to jump to any kind of conclusion, but... He knew they were friends, maybe it was a friend thing? Like an arm slung around a shoulder. But it didn’t look like it though, not really. And he wasn’t so dumb that he was about to kid himself into thinking it could mean anything else. Every little smile they’d shot each other made more sense now, every crappy insult they’d laughed about as they fired them off, every cheap shot and careful touch. All of it. And the way Billy was looking at Steve, face soft and happy, made it clearer than anything. Will hid a smile in Falkor’s fluffy head.


	19. Joyce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I just really dig the found family trope. There is no other reason for this chapter to exist lol.

Joyce liked to have her house full. Though she'd never had the chance to realise it until it actually started to happen. She’d never had anyone over when Lonnie was still around, hell no. And she’d always been working a lot, which meant Will and Jonathan had mostly gone to their friends’ houses instead of asking friends over, since she was so rarely there to watch them. Which in turn meant no time for the boys’ friends’ moms to come over for coffee or anything like that regularly. And then everything had spectacularly gone to shit when Will had disappeared, and few people had really wanted to come over, even after it was set to rights. Then there’d been Bob, and her house had felt more full than it had in years. She’d be making dinner, Bob either puttering about and trying to help, or fiddling with the TV and talking to her from the next room. She would just be able to make out Jonathan’s music through the walls, and a pile of Will’s art supplies would be all over the dinner table. Those had been some of her favourite evenings.

But today, she thought, was about the fullest her house had ever been. There were her boys of course, and the little dog she and Will had picked out from the shelter. Eleven and Hopper, who as good as lived under her roof these days anyway. The thought had her biting back a smile as she checked on the potatoes. Nancy, obviously. Then Will’s friends of course. After that though, were a few more faces she never would have guessed would be at her Thanksgiving dinner this time last year. Perhaps not quite true, she corrected herself as she tried to remember where she'd put the rolls, she might have guessed Steve, with how much time he’d spent looking out for the kids. And his friend Robin, who would be joining them after spending some time with her family, and got on unexpectedly well with Jonathan. Billy was more of a surprise, though he seemed to have spent almost as much time as Steve dropping off and picking up the kids lately. Then there was Susan Hargrove who, since her two kids would be spending the day with them, had been invited too so she wouldn’t be alone. Most unexpected was Jack from the farm along the way. She knew him in passing, had been to school with his son, and he and Hop went back a way, but it was at Billy’s request she’d extended an invite to the old man as well. Apparently Billy’d been helping him out with the horses and some of the farm work, since his son had passed in the summer, and hadn’t liked the thought of him being home alone on Thanksgiving either. Sweet of him. He looked a little out of his depth with all the noise and the kids, but seemed happy enough talking to Hopper.

“How long before dinner Mrs Byers?” Dustin skidded into the kitchen, nearly knocking the baking tray out of her hand as she tried to find a space for it on the counter.

“About twenty minutes honey,” she said.

“Shit,” he said, and she briefly wondered if there was any point in telling him to watch his language, “not enough time to start the new campaign.”

“’Fraid not,” she said. “Could you tell the others to get washed up ready?”

“Sure thing Mrs Byers!” he was gone again before he’d finished talking, and Joyce reached for her beer.

She could hear him deliver the news to the others amidst groans of despair that there would be no time for their little game until after dinner, and cheers that it was almost time to eat. She picked at the overdone edges of the cookies she’d made earlier. Will had helped her with them, though she wasn’t sure how much of it was him actually wanting to help and how much was him just humouring her. But either way she’d hang onto it for as long as she could. Falkor noticed her chewing, and hopped over from where he’d been watching Susan lay the table to sit at her feet.

“You can’t have these sweetie,” she said, licking frosting off her thumb, “they’re not good for you.” He whined and lay down to watch her more intently. “Don’t you try those eyes on me, mister.”

She turned to wipe her hands on a dishtowel, and in doing so happened to glance out of the kitchen window. Steve and Billy were out on the porch. They couldn’t have been smoking; Billy’d had to give it up, what with the breathing problems he’d had after the mall. She guessed it had given him a bit of a sweet tooth – she’d noticed him sucking on a lollipop once or twice when he dropped the kids home, and he’d already swiped two of the cookies since he’d gotten there. She half-watched them for a moment while she ran through a mental checklist of all the dishes she had to finish off, the two of them talking to each other. Then Steve moved, just enough to properly catch her eye, as he ducked to press a kiss to Billy’s cheek. It was exaggerated and sloppy, made Billy grin and swat him away, wiping at his face. She fumbled the spoon she was holding, caught by surprise, but then found herself smiling. She hadn’t known things were like_ that_ with the two of them, of course she hadn’t, but now she knew… well. Once she got over the initial surprise, the signs were easy enough to spot. They looked happy, and that was good enough for her. God knew they all needed to take it where they could get it.

The way Will talked about Billy made a lot more sense now. Not that he mentioned him often, but… The admiration, the happy hopefulness that had lit up his face when he was telling her about the afternoon Steve had driven them out to Jack’s place to see the horses. It made her feel warm, and a little less scared for her boy. She wondered sometimes if she should talk to him about it. He was _that age_ after all, and he’d already had enough crap to deal with without trying to figure out normal teenager things by himself. Or maybe it was better he came to her when he was ready. Or maybe he’d rather talk to his friends about it than her; she still worried she smothered him sometimes. He might want to talk to Billy about it instead. That might do the both of them some good.

“Joyce?”

She startled, and turned, feeling a little guilty, so see Susan looking at her expectantly.

“I’m done with the table,” she said, “what else can I do?”

“Oh,” Joyce shot a quick glance out the window, unsure whether Susan knew about her stepson and Steve, but the two boys were only talking again. Susan noticed her line of sight, and smiled.

“I’m glad to see him so happy,” she said, wringing her hands a little, “after everything that poor boy’s been through, with his father, and then the mall…” she trailed off, looking a bit tearful.

“Oh, no,” Joyce rubbed Susan’s arm, wanting to give her hug but not sure it would be welcome. This was the first time they’d spent longer than five minutes in each other’s company, and she didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Don’t cry. It’s a good thing, surely.”

“I know,” Susan gave her a watery smile and dabbed her eyes. “And thank you for having us. I was getting worried about what the holidays would be like this year, but I think we’re going to be alright.” The implied ‘with all of you to help us’ went unsaid, but Joyce could feel it, in the way Susan had warmed and shed her nervousness since stepping through the door.

“You will be,” Joyce said, a little taken aback by her sincerity, but pleased Susan knew her family had support from them all. “Maybe you could go and get the boys in for me,” she nodded to where Billy and Steve were still talking quietly outside, “dinner’s almost ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS at some ridiculous hour at night it occurred to me that I hadn’t mentioned Robin at all last chapter as a part of their little found family and I am disgusted with myself. I’ve fixed it now. Last little softe chapter to bookend things real nice. Thanks for sticking with me :)

Billy was two deep breaths away from falling asleep. He didn’t want to; he was meant to be helping Harrington with his becoming a cop paperwork or what the fuck ever, but it was real hard to keep his attention on it with Steve’s fingers in his hair. With his blunt nails scratching dull at the crown of his head, dipping absently lower to rub at his nape, or higher to twist real gentle into the curls on top of his head. He grabbed another handful of Skittles, hoping the hit of sugar and the motion of eating them would help keep him conscious a little longer. The carpet in the Harrington house was stupid thick and mostly comfortable to lie stretched out on, though it made his lower back itch where his shirt had ridden up. He shifted a bit, heard a mumble of protest above him as Steve moved about to accommodate it from where he was propped up against the couch. 

Billy opened his eyes, expecting Steve to tell him to quit fidgeting again. But he didn’t say anything, just kept on scritching lightly at Billy’s hair and tapped a pen against his lip as he frowned at the forms he was filling out. He hadn’t wanted to do it at first, kept pouting or waving Billy away and promising he’d get it done later, that he had loads of time. Took Billy a little while to figure out that it was the sort of thing that got Steve all in a knot, that he found hard to focus on, and ended up ditching altogether to save himself the embarrassment. The sort of thing he beat himself up over. But he’d finally made a start, with gentle encouragement and filthy kisses provided by Billy. After a minute or two, he caught Billy watching him. His troubled little frown melted away instantly, replaced by a sleepy smile.

“Hi,” he looked down at where Billy’s head rested in his lap. His hair was sticking every which way from where he’d been tugging at it in between filling out the forms, eyes a little tired from staring at the pages so long. Wintery sun through the window made him pale. 

“You were frownin’” Billy said, drowsy in the low light of late afternoon and the stuffy warmth of the heating, “you’ll get premature lines on that pretty face of yours.”

Steve snorted. “Well gee, thanks for the concern.”

“No problem,” Billy yawned, stretched himself out long where he lay on the floor. Steve’s hand moved from his head to smooth over his belly, little circles like he was petting a cat, fingers cool against the silvery pink knots of Billy’s scars. “Hey,” he swatted at Steve’s hand, “no touching the goods until you finish those fuckin’ forms, Harrington.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed and linked their fingers together, pushed their joined hands further up under Billy’s sweater. “But I like touching you.”

“With a strong argument like that, it’s hard to say no to you, pretty boy.”

Steve ducked, back curled awkwardly to kiss him. Their lips met upside down and off centre because of the weird angle, Steve’s teeth catching on Billy’s top lip before he tilted a little to line up their mouths better. It was slow and lazy, too much spit and lips somehow too dry, the angle fucking with Billy’s back. He brought a hand up to curl around the back of Steve’s neck, arched up to kiss him deeper, for no other reason than he wanted to and he fucking _could_ and it made him happy. Steve smiled against his lips. Billy pulled back first, neck aching, and nipped at his chin.

“You taste likes Skittles,” Steve said with a funny little look that Billy couldn’t read upside down, couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or not.

“Not my fault that’s all you had in the cupboard, Harrington.” He fought back another yawn.

“Sorry baby,” Steve gave him one last kiss, so quick and soft that he was gone again before Billy could lean into it, trap him just a little longer. He settled back against the couch. “You wanna go to the store when I'm done?”

A few months ago, that would have freaked Billy out. Had him spooked and flighty like Max the horse when a tarp covering the tractor had come loose and turned her half mad trying to escape it. And it still could have that effect on him, if he was having a bad day, or if it was suddenly sprung on him, or if a shadow caught his eye wrong and had him seeing the traces of a dead monster. But it didn’t happen often. Now he nodded, hair rough against the denim of Steve’s jeans. Wondered if he could sneak a bag of Jolly Ranchers to the cart along with the sensible purchases without Steve noticing. Who was he kidding; if Steve caught him, he’d probably throw in another two bags and be happy about it.

“Sure thing, Uptown Girl.”

Steve flicked his forehead.

And Billy was sure as shit going to pay this time. Steve was always picking up the bill for stuff, and Billy never argued because he could see Steve liked feeling like he was helping. Didn’t mean _he_ had to like it; he hated feeling like a charity case, had always had the importance of paying his own way pressed on him. But Jack had started paying Billy for his time. For afternoons, sometimes whole days, spent feeding and moving and clearing up after the horses. For helping with the heavy lifting, mending fences and giving things a fresh coat of paint. He was going to show him how to drive the tractor, maybe ride the horses in the spring, if he wanted. It wasn’t much. But enough that Billy didn’t feel like total shit watching Harrington fork over his cash anytime they went to the store, or for pizza, or the movies. (Billy’d been expecting that to go badly, with how jittery he got in crowds sometimes, but turned out not being able to see the other people helped a bunch.) He never could have guessed at any of it, was wildly different to what he ever could have pictured. And it was a hundred times better. 

He settled back again, head heavy in Steve’s lap when he went back to filling out the forms. He breathed in deep, thought of long grass and trees full of birds he couldn't be bothered to learn the names of, horses quietly grazing under a pink sky.


End file.
